A Dark Romance
by IvyAddams
Summary: When Tom Riddle asks for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, Headmaster Dippet does not refuse. The year Riddle teaches, he meets Bellatrix Black, a young, brilliant, beautiful girl, with a passion for dark magic. My version of how he trained her to become the witch she is. Rated M for violence and explicit sexual content. As always, R&R.
1. Chapter 1: Back To Hogwarts

The first thing his eyes would hover over would not be her flawless, young body, nor her fountain of black curls, nor her pale, smooth skin, nor even her full, red lips.

It was her eyes.

The thick, heavily lidded windows to her soul, dark and shining, spoke ever emotion she could feel—desire, pain, anger, remorse, ache. He remembered the first time he had seen her eyes. They were black, like the depths of the ocean, and he was pulled into the tide at first glance. Her lashes, voluminous and long, flickering up and down, opening and closing his passageway inside of her. The first time he had encountered the girl, her eyes spoke of innocence, of a longing for darkness, yet of a blind, carefree childish approach to it. He had felt this overwhelming sensation to be a mentor, a man, to guide her through the torments of their world, so that he could teacher her to inflict pain upon others. Just those eyes, like the eyes of a child inside of a woman, had taken him to a place he had never been before, and it was one that oddly enough demoralized him.

But all of that would come in years.

"Welcome students, welcome!" came the echoing and upbeat voice of Headmaster Dippet, smiling at all of the students. First years had just been sorted and the feast was about to begin. As friends reunited and whispered quietly amongst themselves, Dippet announced his usual 'welcome back' speech. Sitting at the Slytherin table was an elite group of intelligent, evil students. They were the head of the school, achieving the best grades in the highest possible classes. This group was composed of Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, Friday Addams, and Bellatrix Black.

Each of them had their own major talents, although they interchangeably were skilled in every subject—Severus was an ingenious chemist, excelling in intricate potions which he used to trick others and benefit his friends. He was a shy and awkward boy, his face covered with a oddly brushed head of black hair, his lanky and think appearance still taking form. Lucius was definitely a casanova, boasting an attractive exterior, strangely masculine blonde hair, and was skilled at Quidditch, playing all parts expertly and leading Slytherin to win the House Cup for six years in a row. Friday was a brilliant, attractive girl, her angular face framed with dark brown hair, sparkling blue eyes and a dark smile. She was highly intelligent in areas of plants, animals, and creatures of all kinds. She was the most outgoing, witty, likable, and evil of the four.

Yet the most stunning member of the four was Bellatrix, whose beauty was astounding, and whose magical skill was far more advanced than any other in the school, even surpassing many of the teachers. She was brilliant in combat and spells, and knew more than the Hogwarts curriculums had to offer. Her beauty was undeniable—she had smooth, shining black hair, curling down her back, skin whiter than fresh parchment, lips as red as the blood in her body, figure curving perfectly. Her body was truly astounding, but it was her eyes that captivated so many. They were like black jewels, the apidimi of emptiness, and frightened, enticed, excited, aroused and embarrassed onlookers simultaneously. They were shrouded with heavily lidded lashes and flashed elegantly, the only true portrayal of her emotions.

"I wonder what we're in for this year," muttered Friday.

"Settle down, students, settle down," continued Professor Dippet. He made his usual announcements, discussing rules in place for the year to come. Bellatrix looked across the table at Severus, who was frowning at Dippet. He glanced at her and transformed his expression into a twisted smile. She flashed one of her rare and brief grins, more like a twitch of her lips, and then returned to listen to Dippet speak.

"Lastly, students, before we begin our meals," he gathered their attention once more, "While our beloved Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has retired, I am happy to announce that the position is being filled by none other than Hogwarts graduate, Professor Riddle!"

A smattering of applause flew through the audience as Riddle, a new figure seated at the table of teachers, stood. The students guessed he had been a Slytherin student, for his aura seemed dark and cold. His face resembled something of a smile, looking content but yet detached. None of the students were quite sure what to think, confusion and excitement lingering through the crowd. Bellatrix dissected his appearance—he was definitely attractive, his dark eyes, visible just below his hair, presumably hid a vast life of secrets. He was younger than most Hogwarts teachers, and Bellatrix couldn't stop staring.

"I definitely won't be skipping that class," Friday whispered to Bellatrix. She ignored her friend's innuendo and continued to inquisitively examine the new teacher.

"Now, students," Professor Dippet cut in, and Riddle sat back down. "Let the feast begin!"

The students began discussing their summers as golden plates filled with glistening food. Bellatrix, who rarely ate anything, spent most of the meal listening to Lucius and Friday tell wild stories of their adventures of travel in Egypt, Peru, India, and across the globe.

"I'm telling you, the Russians knows how to run a country!" said Lucius as Severus shook his head. "They've maximized industry and minimized the food needed for lower classes. How does it get better than that?"

"Lucius, we've all been waiting for you to move to Russia for some time now, just go ahead already," Severus muttered to his friend.

"Don't leave Friday behind," Bellatrix's eyes flashed up at Lucius, who gave her a _Really? You really had to say that? _look, while Friday stabbed her side with a fork. Bellatrix, not reacting to either of them, made contact with Severus's eyes. He smiled at her joke and she felt satisfied.

Friday and Lucius had an on-again-off-again relationship, which was currently in an 'off' phase. They were perfect for one another, both extremely boastful and talented, yet that drove them to hate each other. It would only be a matter of days until they were back together again, Bellatrix knew, and Friday would come to her with a monstrosity of girlish problems.

"Then you can bring Lily," said Lucius, nudging Severus, who only hid himself deeper behind his greasy black hair.

"Aw, you still like her?" Friday smiled, throwing a grape at him. It deflected off of his shoulder and bounced into a pile of potatoes on his plate. Friday laughed and continued eating, letting the moment wear off.

"No matter," she shrugged, "But we can't let Bellatrix be alone! I think she'd bring Riddle," Friday remarked, waiting for Bellatrix to react, but it was Lucius who jumped in first.

"What do you think of him? He looks quite impressive, probably did excellent here in Hogwarts," he said smartly.

"I've never heard of him, there must be a reason why he's back," remarked Friday.

"I wonder what he'll teach," Bellatrix quietly added.

"Nothing you don't already know," said Friday, meaning this in several ways as she raised an implicative eyebrow at her friend.

"Right," Bellatrix sarcastically remarked to her friends' suggestion, and viscously stabbed her knife into a frog leg.

"I don't know," Lucius added in, jumping on Friday's side, "He doesn't seem taken, but one look at you and that will change," he grinned evilly.

"Not you, too," Bellatrix moaned, and she flung her frog leg, still on the end of her knife, at Lucius, who didn't have time to fend it off as it landed in the middle of his plate.

"Bellatrix!" he said, disgusted, pulling it out of a whipped-cream pie, "I wanted to eat that!"

Friday, Bellatrix, and even Severus laughed at him as he pointed at the frog leg, muttered a spell, and it evaporated into thin air.

As Lucius and Friday began an extensive discussion about cultural cuisine, Bellatrix looked up at the teacher's table again. Riddle was definitely a different addition to the staff, and she had this feeling that he would be a significant change. He already appeared likable, engaging in conversation with all of the teachers, their eyes and ears trained intently on whatever story he was telling. Bellatrix let her fascination linger a little longer before turning back to her friends and letting all thoughts about Riddle slip away until her first Defense Against the Dark Arts class.


	2. Chapter 2: Professor Riddle

Classes had begun at Hogwarts. Nervous first-years were struggling to find their way around the halls, while seventh years walked with ease, knowing every last trick of the ever-moving staircases. Bellatrix, Friday, Lucius and Severus all had the same schedules again (for they all took the same, advanced classes), and had so far been to Astronomy, Transfiguration, and Divination. Last for that day was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which they were on the way to at that moment. In their previous Divination lesson, where Bellatrix and Friday had successfully managed to read eachother's minds, Lucius and Severus had not, and were quarreling with the girls.

"It's because you have that girl bonding thing," Lucius disgustingly remarked at Friday's bragging. "You know what each other is thinking, the way you go to the bathroom together and take forever to get dressed."

"Guys have that too," Friday countered, "When you get all defensive about your Quidditch brooms and potion kits."

"To be fair," Severus added, "You broke one of my vials the last time I let you use it."

"Fine," Friday said stiffly. The four walked in the hallway, their horizontal line ordering Friday, Lucius, Bellatrix and Severus. Friday and Lucius were a couple again, just as Bellatrix had predicted, and his arm was around her as they went into the classroom. Their Slytherin posse headed for the back of the classroom, while the Gryffindors that came in sat towards the front. Bellatrix was extremely interested in what this class would present—would Riddle teach her anything she didn't already know? She highly doubted it, but there was always hope.

The whole class was full now, the students talking quietly until a silence swept over the room as Professor Riddle came in. He was more attractive than what he had appeared to be across the Great Hall, Bellatrix observed, taking in his appearance from the back of the classroom.

"Welcome to your final Defense Against the Dark Arts year of classes," Riddle said, his dark voice carrying to the back of the class. "I am Professor Riddle, as you all know by now. I suppose I shall start this lesson rather abruptly. Tell me, who knows of the three unforgivable curses?"

A Gryffindor, James, obnoxiously raised his hand and said, lazily, "The imperius curse, the cruciatus curse, and the killing curse."

Riddle nodded, then lightly replied, "Care to demonstrate?"

James was taken aback, and looked at his friends, who confirmed his shock. "The curses are illegal, sir."

"Not when used instructively," he replied simply. "But I'm sure you've never used them if you are afraid of a meager dilemma like _legalities_," he smiled slightly. "So allow me."

He waved his wand and a conjured up a horse, large and strong, in front of the class.

He lightly flicked his want and spoke the words, "_Imperio_."

Immediately, the horse began trotting down the aisle of the students, then turned back and jumped onto James's table. He had to remove his hands in time to not be crushed, and the Slytherins in the back of the classroom laughed at him.

Then the horse retreated to its original position in the front of the classroom and stood still again.

"Control," Riddle said, lowering his wand. "Total power over a person. While it can be used with both good and bad intentions, it is labeled as an Unforgivable. I'm sure you can all guess why."

Then Riddle turned back to the horse and muttered, "_Crucio_."

The horse began bucking and neighing uncontrollably. The neighs grew to a clearly-defined shriek, and the rearing grew more twitchy and rabid-like. The class watched as the horse began to unravel at the seems, jerking oddly in random ways. Most were cowering at this fierce display of magic, even Friday, a deep lover of animals, had intense shock in her eyes.

Bellatrix was deeply absorbed in his magic. This spell entranced and fascinated her. She was dying to utter the words he said, to cast a curse like that. This seemed like real magic, magic she knew she was capable of performing but wasn't allowed to try.

Riddle lowered his wand and the horse stood still again, breathing heavily.

"Torture," he continued, "The exertion of agonizing and terrible pain. When used enough, it can drive a person to insanity. Some say it is a fate worse than death."

Finally, Riddle turned back to the horse, his wand poised to enact the last Unforgivable.

"Wait!" James stood up, his hand outstretched to stop him. "You aren't going . . ." he trailed off, looking into the dead serious stare of Riddle.

"I'm not going to what?" Riddle said, bored by James's concern.

James looked at him with a certain fear in his eyes before managing, "_Kill_ . . . it?"

Riddle looked at James with an oddly amused expression. "Why not?"

James gulped, an answer poised in his mind, but couldn't see it through to the end of his lips. Riddle waited until James awkwardly sat down again, then directed his attention back to the horse, and quietly whispered, "_Avada Kedavera."_

Thegreat beast fell to the ground as a jet of green light hit it, turning the horse into a massive heap of lifeless existence. Bellatrix was enthralled, her eyes captivated by the sudden death, the power of the spell, and the power it gave to the caster. She looked at Riddle and noticed the clear sense of accomplishment and strength it gave him.

"Now, of course that's not what you will be learning," Riddle directed his attention back to the class. "But it will be my goal to work relentlessly on teaching you to detect and defend yourself from unfriendly spells such as what I just demonstrated," he gestured his wand at the corpse and it disappeared into thin air, the way it had appeared before. The class was stunned, completely shocked at the display Riddle had just shown. _What is his idea? _ thought Bellatrix. _Give us a taste of what we can do, and then snatch it away before we have a chance to try? _

For the rest of class, the students paired up and practiced magic they already knew in combat, to refresh their memories of what the summer had exhausted. Friday and Lucius paired up, and while Severus was great friends with Bellatrix, he wouldn't dare be her partner in any duel. She took it far to seriously, and her magic was beyond them all. She had seriously physically damaged over six students through the course of her years at Hogwarts, and he surely was not about to become number seven.

Bellatrix stood and let her black robe fall to the ground, a black dress beneath it. The school did not strongly enforce the dress code on seventh years, and allowed them to wear whatever they desired underneath their robe, as long as it was of the color scheme of their house and somewhat appropriate. Bellatrix wore a tight, form-fitting dress, outlining her perfect figure and showcasing her assets. She looked around the classroom, her black eyes seeing who she would have to pair up with. But all of the students had partners; Bellatrix was left alone.

"Who is without a partner?" asked Riddle, realizing the class was an odd number of students.

With a dark look at Friday, Lucius and Severus, Bellatrix stepped out from behind their back row of desks and replied, "I, sir."

Riddle's eyes lingered over to where the voice came from, and they rested on the beautiful girl, Bellatrix Black.

That body . . .

_Those eyes._

Riddle managed to speak, "Miss . . .?"

"Black," she finished, "Bellatrix Black."

His reality quickly came flooding back, his daze of being drawn into her cut short, and with an attempt at professionally continuing, he said, "You may practice with me."

Bellatrix suddenly felt her heart rate increase. Practice with _him_? After the magic he had just performed? There was no way she could attempt to even try countering him. But she felt her legs step up to the front of the classroom, past the easily paired groups of students, and she was suddenly very close to him.

His eyes continued to scan her. She was incredibly beautiful. Their thoughts were alike, as Bellatrix further took in his attractiveness, even closer than before. His dark expression was seductive and enchanting, and his masculine strength respected every aspect of his ability.

They raised their wands. _Please don't kill me, _she thought desperately to herself, her expression remaining indifferent.

A jet of light flew from his wand, she mentally and instantly detected it as a simple petrifying curse, and deflected it within the moments it had taken her to process. His eyes widened in shock at her speed. Then he hurled another, this time a numbing spell, which she also blocked. Again and again, in speeding instants of magic, he hurled spell after spell at her, and she defended herself instantaneously. Soon enough, she was able to cast her own spells back at him, which he now attempted to defend. The other students had stopped practicing and watched the two of them duel, perfectly aligned with each other, balancing their magic impressively.

She felt his magic change, evolving into stronger spells, so respectively she changed hers. She watched him concentrated on the movements of her wand, the places where her spells were targeted to hit. He was quicker than her, knew magic better than she did, and could cast spells faster than her. She kept up fairly well, however, as he began exerting his best ability upon breaking her.

Opposite sides of the classroom now, they had ended up walking to different places as they fought. Their magic soon interrupted the work of the rest of the students in the class, so they turned their attention to the epic duel taking place. Bellatrix felt not just dark magic but curses start flying from his wand, and at this she knew she was no match. Of the ones she knew, none of her curses were as powerful or as developed as his. She was never able to practice without getting in trouble. Suddely, their spells collided, and Bellatrix could sense that her magic had been broken by an incredibly forceful curse from Riddle. Bellatrix was pushed back against the stone wall from the impact of the brunt of the magical collision, and she lowered her wand, nodding to him.

The whole class, which had been silently staring at the fight, suddenly went back to work. Bellatrix knew Severus, Friday and Lucius would not leave this alone when they left the class that day.

"Miss Black," he said, staring at her with a look of much impressment on his face. "Where did you learn how to fight?"

"School, I suppose," she responded lightly, walking up to the front of the classroom, not looking away from his intense stare.

"We both know that's not true," he said, walking over to her. "I'd like to believe that kind of skill could be achieved in the teachings here alone, but I would only be forcing myself to accept a terrible inaccuracy." He smiled, standing only a foot in front of her. "What is your wand, if I may ask?"

"Dragon heartstring, sir," she held up her wand, her heart racing, her stomach queasy, "And walnut."

He ran a finger along the black wood. She noticed how pale he was, almost as white as her. His eyes mulled over her wand, but Bellatrix knew he was looking directly past it, at what the gown revealed of her breasts. Then his eyes flickered up to hers and he said, in a deep voice, "Does class bore you?"

While she didn't know whether to take this as an innuendo or not, she chose her words carefully, saying, "When the information is such that I already know, sometimes I find it difficult to focus."

"I assume you've known the information all your life," he smiled slightly at her, fingers resting on the tip of her wand.

"Most often, sir," she replied quietly.

He looked down again, Bellatrix could only guess where, and he finished, "I shall have to see about providing you new content."

She was breathless next to him. She had a very sudden and strange desire to kiss him, but didn't have a chance to understand her feeling before he turned and walked away from her, saying to the students, "Class is dismissed. Be prepared to start working on combat, that will be a recurring theme in this class."

Bellatrix quickly ran to her seat, grabbed her books, and walked out of the classroom, following Severus, Lucius and Friday.

"My God, Bellatrix, what was that? What did he say?" exclaimed Friday in astonishment at her.

"You were as good as him!" Lucius cried.

"Are you alright?" Severus asked seriously.

Bellatrix laughed at their remarks, and simply explained that he asked where she had learned fighting and what he she thought of classes at Hogwarts.

"I totally saw him looking," Friday implied with her eyes what she meant, and Bellatrix shoved her into Lucius, who firmly held his ground. Friday continued, "You've got a good shot with him. He's already impressed with you."

"A teacher?" Bellatrix shook her head at her friend in silly skepticism, then said lightly, "Lucius, would you mind removing your girlfriend to some remote land where the two of you can revel in each other's ridiculousness?"

"My pleasure," Lucius said darkly as he pulled Friday away from them, laughing, and the couple escaped down a stairwell where Severus and Bellatrix could only guess what they would do.

Bellatrix smiled at the thought of her friends. She tried to put the image of Riddle looking down her dress out of her mind as she continued conversation with Severus, but couldn't escape that exhilarating feeling of when he was casting curse after curse at her, so brilliantly, so smoothly. She wanted to learn how to do that, to cunningly perform magic as he did. Bellatrix wasn't sure if she ever could, but the only way she could ever get to a level so magically advanced like that, she knew, was if someone like Riddle taught her.


	3. Chapter 3: Riddle's Proposal

Several weeks slipped by. The warm, September air grew colder, leaves fell off the trees, and the castle felt much darker. Bellatrix had been quite enjoying her Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Riddle seemed to teach differently than any other professor at Hogwarts. Before performing magic, Riddle required time be devoted to discussing the history of the spell, its origins, and why it was created. He continually scared the students into doing their best by showing them what a dark wizard (such as himself) could cast on them. Constantly, the class watched animals that Riddle conjured up to perform spells on loose limbs, be forced into contorted positions, go insane, or have some sort of incurable disease be placed on them. Then, Riddle would either ask the students to undo whatever magic he had cast, or attempt blocking it as he turned his wand on them. Students would be required to cast shielding charms of all sorts, sometimes even try countering his dark magic with darker magic.

"Spells are like potions," Riddle said one day. "You can activate some with others, while you can disband them as well. Think," he walked down the aisles of the classroom, where the students were seated. "If I casted a severing charm at your neck," he heard a ripple of laughter run through some of the students, "What would you counter it with? A shield or another charm?"

"Shield, sir," said Remus, sitting in the front with his Gryffindor friends. "What else can you do?"

"Think about it for a minute," Riddle said, continuing to walk, "What does a severing charm do?"

"Cuts something off," said Remus simply.

"Right," Riddle turned and started walking towards the front of the room again. "And what is the opposite of cutting something off?"

Remus was quite for a moment before he said, "Putting something back together?"

"Yes," said Riddle, confirming his guess, "You _can_ cast a shield charm, but in most scenarios, your first attempt to counter someone's magic is to cast the _opposite_ spell. So, Remus, come up here," Riddle gestured for the student to stand up. Remus was pushed by James and his friends as he walked up to the front. He chuckled, but his smile left once standing before Riddle, who left a chill running down anyone's spine. They raised their wands, and Riddle said, "Try a shield spell first."

They heard Riddle mutter, "_Diffindo_," and a jet of light flew out of his wand. Remus casted a white shielding charm. It did save his head from being cut off, but the shield broke on contact with the spell.

Riddle mused at the charm, then continued, "Now, try again, and this time, cast a regeneration spell back at me."

Remus gulped, nervous at the severity of getting his head cut off by this curse. Then, Riddle shot another jet of light from his wand, and Remus countered it with one from his. The spells collided and disappeared.

"You see that in that case, class, we won equally. But with a shielding charm, the winner is clearly me, because I have broken your magic, as opposed to us breaking each others. You may sit down, now," Riddle waited for Remus to go back to his seat. Then he glanced at the clock and, noticing their time was up, said, "Class is dismissed. For homework, please make a list of commonly used spells and their counter charms or shields, we will all be practicing this next time."

The students gathered their books. Lucius immediately began talking about how stupid Remus had looked, Friday interjecting her agreement, while Severus and Bellatrix discussed countering darker magical spells, which they had both been thinking about has Riddle had taught.

"Miss Black," Riddle called as Bellatrix was about to leave the classroom, "Would you mind staying for a moment?"

Her heart skipped a beat. Bellatrix managed to stay completely indifferent in her reply, "Yes, Professor."

Severus looked at Bellatrix. He raised an eyebrow, suspiciously asking, _Do you know what he's going to ask?_ She flickered her lashes in response, _I suppose I will find out._

Severus let his gaze on his best friend linger a little longer, her beauty so astounding he was shocked that she had latched on to him when they first years. He, the quiet, loner potions geek, was no match to the skill she possessed. Now she was the queen of this school, intelligence and appearance far surpassing any person in Hogwarts. All the teachers and students knew she would go far in the future, she could do anything she wanted, whether it be Headmistress of Hogwarts or Ministress of Magic.

"Professor?" her silky voice floated through the now empty classroom. Riddle, who was putting a book away in the back room of the class, emerged again into the light. His eyes were entwined with hers. She gave him a young, blindly stupid yet deliciously pleasurable look, and it took every moral strength he had not to engage in his desires.

"Bellatrix," an invisible shiver ran down through him as Riddle broke eye contact for a moment, regaining his mental position. "It is under my impression that you already have sufficient knowledge of the skills presented in this course. I don't see a reason to teach what a student already knows. I spoke with the headmaster," Riddle looked back up at Bellatrix, who had flickered her lashes away, feeling a strange twirling sensation inside her at looking at him.

He continued, "I was given permission to design a course in which you would learn and perform magic more advanced than I am allowed teach. Provided, of course, that you gave your consent."

Bellatrix's eyes widened and stared at him as she processed what he said. While she was bursting with questions, all she let slip was, "What kind of magic would this be?"

Riddle walked over to her, speaking as he went, "Far more taxing magic, powerful enchantments, such as dark magic," he paused, letting this phrase linger through the few feet of air between them. Bellatrix felt the immensity of the phrase wash over her. _Dark magic,_ she echoed. It was all she had dreamed of learning since she was younger, but was told that it required the most skilled of tutors—this kind of magic could not be learned simply from a book.

"This would not only include devastating magic, but curses," his eyes lingered for a moment on her body, and she pretended not to have noticed, although it gave her a secret pleasure that he had. Riddle quietly said, "Specifically, the three Unforgivable curses."

Bellatrix was reeling with nerves. That kind of power was unbreakable and unstoppable. It was a tremendous amount of skill and trust . . . and _he_ wanted to give it to_ her_?

Riddle's eyes met hers as he posed the question, "Would you be interested?"

Bellatrix equaled his intensity, his power, his beauty (although debatably hers was greater than Riddle's). Her eyes, black depths of the sea wringing in their next catch from the tide, forced her lips to respond, "When can I start?"


	4. Chapter 4: Imperio

In the months that followed, Bellatrix went every Tuesday and Friday night to Riddle's classroom, learning a new spell or skill each time. Usually, Tuesday would be something less action-filled, such as learning about a famous dark magical wizard or the origins of a certain spell. He would teach her the curse, and she was expected to have it mastered by Friday, when he would test her on it and they would duel. She grew to love dueling with Riddle, he was the most challenging opponent she had ever faced. She could never beat him, for of course he was far more advanced than her, but the fighting was invigorating and helped her become a better fighter.

One Friday evening, they were amidst a duel, jets of light flashing from side to side of the room. He laughed, enjoying the battle, observing how her skill was improving. She smiled, not allowing him to break her focus, and never ceased in shooting and blocking spells. They continued fighting, and the gap between them grew smaller and smaller as the duel drew them closer together, the speed of their magic increasing steadily. Their arms and wands waved wildly, eyes darting from each spell to the next. Suddenly, two of their spells collided, and they were both tossed backwards in a shockwave of explosive magic.

Bellatrix fell on the floor, her black, curly hair spread beneath her, while Riddle quickly stood and walked over to her.

"You are getting much better," he smiled, grasping her hand and pulling her up. "That was an especially nice spell at the end."

"I am learning," she smiled, smoothing out her black dress. She rather dramatically pulled back a mass of black curls from her face in an attempt to push them behind her back. Still, they bounced forwards, and she grudgingly accepted their presence by her neck.

"Is that natural?" Riddle asked suddenly, looking at her hair, his head tilted slightly to one side.

"Unfortunately," Bellatrix rolled her eyes and tried to push another mass of curls away.

Riddle grabbed her hand, stopping her, and quietly said, "Don't." His eyes were mesmerized by the jet black ringlets smothering their hands. Bellatrix's curls bounced over his hand, still grasping hers, and he noticed how soft and glossy her hair was, everything that it appeared to be. Her hear stopped when his pale fingers wrapped around hers, and let her eyes linger only on his firm grip on her, afraid to look into his eyes and break the moment. He was taller than her, not by much, but it gave him a sort of strength standing beside her. Suddenly, he averted his eyes and let go of her, walking away from her to get his wand, still on the floor.

_Damn it! _Bellatrix angrily thought to herself, yet showed no signs of any emotion but indifference at his leaving her.

"Bella," he said, his back still to her. She had loved his use of the nickname, _Bella._ She rarely let anyone call her that without slapping them.

Riddle continued, "I think you have learned as much of the dark arts as you can learn without further divulging to actual dark magic. Would you like to continue?"

She silently gulped. "With what?"

He turned back to her, wand in hand, a serious look in his dark eyes. "The unforgivable curses."

She did not back down from his intense stare, almost testing her to see if she was strong enough to take the impact of the words he spoke. He was again, drawn into her terrible, black tide. She loved they way he looked at her, so dark, so beautiful.

"Which one first?"

He smiled. "We shall start with the Imperius curse. Sit," he gestured for her to sit down in one of the desks, and willingly she obliged.

"When cast successfully," Riddle began, "It places the victim completely under the caster's control, though a person with exceptional strength of will is capable of resisting it. This makes it unique among the unforgivable curses, as it is the only one of them with a known, reliable method of resistance." At this he paused. She looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "Basically, Bella," he said simply, "There are two parts to mastering this spell. Casting it and resisting it."

He looked at her, as if asking which she wanted to counter first. Bellatrix's mind flashed with questions, but all she said was, "Which is more difficult?"

"That depends on you," he said blatantly. Then, after a moment of thought, Riddle continued, "We should start with you resisting it. That is always harder, and usually signifies that the spell will not require much work for the individual to actually cast."

She looked at him, and instead of thinking that casting the Imperius curse on her was educational, her mind played around fantasies of his desire to have control over her mind and body. _What is he going to do to me? _ she thought to herself. _Oh please, I hope Friday is wrong._

Riddle gestured for her to stand, and Bellatrix's heeled black boots found grounding on the floor. He muttered, "We shall start with something simple," but Bellatrix barely heard it over the sound of her heart beating, her breathing increasing nervously. Then he aimed his wand at her and muttered, "_Imperio."_

Immediately, Bellatrix was placed in a calm, trance-like state. Her feelings of nervousness and contradiction disappeared. In her mind, a smooth, deep voice echoed,

_Sit down._

Bellatrix was about to sit when in a flash of what felt like a chilled reality, she saw Riddle again, his wand pointed at her, and remembered what the lesson was. She did not obey the voice, and stayed perfectly still standing up.

_Sit down, _the voice echoed again. Bellatrix recognized this voice as _his _voice—Riddle's voice. Again, Bellatrix was tempted, but the slightest touch of reality traced her mind when she took in Riddle's fierce glance staring her down from the opposite side of the classroom, and she remained standing.

_Sit down, Bella_, the voice said, now clearly Riddle's voice. She wanted so desperately to obey, his tone was so commanding and she rarely disobeyed anyone, but glimpsing his dark eyes made reality slip slightly into view, and again, she held on to resisting the voice.

_Bella!_ the voice now yelled, the calm and relaxed state turning much more cruel, _You must sit down!_ At this, one of Bellatrix's legs took a step backwards, ready to sit. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk behind her, but she pushed against it, her internal will not ready to give in yet.

Then the dream-like state grew so dark she felt herself suffocating in it, as if physically holding back from the spell was killing her. Suddenly, she gave up and allowed herself to finally sit, tired of resisting. She was gasping for air, her beautiful red lips parted slightly. It was painfully and somehow deliciously beautiful for Riddle to watch. He wanted to just walk over to her and press his lips against hers, touch her beautiful, glossy hair again, pull her young body against his and trace his long pale fingers over her gorgeous legs. But he looked away instead.

"You must improve," he said once she had regained her breath. She was afraid to look at him, her failure too humiliating for her to admit.

"It's a start," he then said, tried to soften his blow, but they both knew she had done awfully.

After a few moments, she stood. He looked at her in shock, seeing this as a nonverbal gesture to try again. He laughed at her enthusiasm, saying, "You really should take a break, that seemed very taxing." But she stood firmly in place and he shook his head, both adoring and admonishing her stubbornness.

He cast the spell on her two more times. The second time, she gave in again when she started to suffocate, but the third time she made it past that stage without the temptation of moving at all.

"That was your best," he said after he let go of the curse on her the third time he cast it. "You really tempted me to stop."

She smiled slightly, sighing, and after a few moments of rest, stood and said, "Again."

Riddle raised an eyebrow at her. "I think you've had enough for tonight," he smiled, walking away from her, towards his desk.

She would not let him think she was weak. She took a few steps in his direction, and with the most seductive voice she could muster, begged, "Please?"

He froze and turned to look at her. She was irresistible. Her body was absolutely perfect, it seemed unreal. Her beauty laid out before him in the most sensational way, Riddle only thought to himself, _How could a girl as beautiful and smart as this possibly find any condolence in my control over her?_ Countering his urge to make love to her with an action of violence, he raised his wand, angrily saying, "Imperio!"

Suddenly, Bellatrix felt herself in a different place. She was still in his classroom, but it wasn't quite this classroom, as if in a different reality. Riddle was standing across from her, without a wand in his hand. He said, quietly,

_"__Kiss me."_

His words echoed in Bellatrix's mind, and she was really tempted. But she remembered her place as a student, she could not impose herself on him, not matter what he requested of her. She couldn't . . .

_"__Bella, beautiful Bella,"_ he said, softly, walking towards her, his request again echoing in her mind. _"Kiss me."_

She saw him nearing her, watching his body coming closer as each foot moved in front of the other. His face a powerful and masculine stare, intently fixed on her black, soul-less eyes. Again, only a foot away from her, he requested, _"Kiss me."_

Bellatrix still had some lingering sense of purity in her mind, she couldn't just yet give in to her indulgences. His voice became more serious, louder, and then he commanded her. Still, she would not. He took another step closer, asked again, and only a few inches from his lips, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Then the small gap between them closed, heard him ask again, even darker than before. His eyes were so powerful, he was so incredible, so strong. She wanted to, so desperately, but . . .

_"__Bella!"_ he exclaimed, his hands now roughly holding her shoulders, pushing her against him. His eyes were intent, he was aggressive now. _"Bellatrix, kiss me!"_

And suddenly, she pushed out of his arms, out of his hold on her, stepping away from him. His eyes shone with anger, shock and desire, and she was wary of her decision. But she kept slowly stepping further and further away from him. Suddenly, she felt herself regain presence again in the classroom of reality, both standing on opposite sides of the room, Riddle's wand in his hand. He lowered his wand, the curse now broken.

"You resisted," he said, a flicker of a smile on his lips.

Her eyes met his, and she knew that he was both impressed and amused. She managed a flash of her dark, thick eyelashes.

"Don't act like it was so easy," he said jokingly, as if offended, and Bellatrix laughed.

He smiled at her modesty, and continued, "You are dismissed, Miss Black. Try practicing the curse over the weekend, I expect to see you have it mastered by Tuesday."

"Yes, Professor," she grabbed her wand off of a desk and made to leave the room.

Before she did, she stopped in the archway of the door to the classroom. She turned back to look at him. Riddle had walked to the back of the room, about to go through the doorway which lead to another section of the classroom that students did not have access to.

She wanted to tell him what she was thinking, that it was not at all easy for her to resist the curse, that she had wanted to kiss him so badly, that he couldn't imagine. But he slipped through the back door, and Bellatrix was alone, staring after him, letting her strange feeling leave her and follow him out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5: Linnet Bird

The winter was just now beginning to take form, the air growing sharply colder. Hogwarts was finally getting into the midst of the school year. The students finally adjusted to their classes, teachers now thoroughly developing their lesson plans. Yet an overall air of foreboding change lingering through the castle walls as students anticipated Christmas break and mid-year exams.

Bellatrix was in the Room of Requirement, working on the Imperius curse before she performed it for Riddle the following week. She was practicing on a linnet bird, trying to get it to fly up to the rafters of the room and back down.

"Fly, you idiot," Bellatrix muttered, again and again aiming her wand at the animal. The bird would flap its wings a few feet in the air but nothing more.

In exasperation, Bellatrix angrily flicked her wand and made the bird crash into the wall mid-flight. It let out a pained chirp and fell to the ground. Astonished, Bellatrix realized that she had just successfully used the Imperius curse. _Does it only work when I'm angry? _she thought. Conjuring up strong emotions, she shouted, "_Imperio!_" and forced the bird to flip in nauseating spirals until it stopped squawking and limply let the spell take control of its weak body.

With great pleasure, Bellatrix let the bird fall back to the floor. Now she was casting this spell correctly, soon she would have it mastered. _Riddle will be pleased_, she thought to herself. His confirmation and approval was becoming all that she craved. He satisfied her quench for real recognition, something that no one had ever given to her at Hogwarts. No one truly wanted to help her ability succeed, it was as if the teachers were afraid of it. But Riddle, he knew exactly how to groom her skill in dark magic, to prolong it and enhance it.

Bellatrix heard the door of the Room of Requirement melting away, meaning that someone was coming in, and she quickly hid in a corner, wand at the ready incase whoever was entering the room saw her.

The door closed and of all people, Severus wandered in, idly walking directly past her without noticing. _Severus, _Bellatrix thought to herself, _What is he doing here?_ Instead of revealing her presence, she stayed in the shadows, almost invisible, curious of what he was doing.

Severus looked around the classroom, as if sensing someone was watching him. Bellatrix quickly camouflaged herself by a quick gesture of her wand, now completely hidden from his view.

He unfolded a piece of paper in his pocket, and quietly, began reading from it. Bellatrix strained to hear what he was saying, his muttered words slurred and inaudible. She edged along the wall to hear him better and caught snippets of his words. _What are you doing? _Bellatrix thought, continuing to move closer.

He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and with what seemed like renewed confidence, began reading from the paper, loudly this time.

"I thought that my life was horrible, and that it was worthless. Hatred had consumed me—but then I met you."

Bellatrix almost gasped. _Shit, Severus, what is this? _

In a shaking voice, Severus continued, "You are the most intelligent, beautiful, and talented girl I know. I become petrified just thinking about speaking to you. When I look at you, I don't think of you as the girl everyone likes, but as the perfection that you are. I know we rarely talk, but when we do, I wonder, _Why would someone so flawless would speak to someone like me?_ Anyone can see that you are truly incredible. Whoever denies it obviously hasn't met you."

Bellatrix was frozen in shock. _This must be about Lily, _she guessed.

Severus began rushing through the end of his speech, nervously saying, "I don't know how to say this. I guess I'll just . . . would I . . . be able to . . . would you . . . be my . . .?"

In a hasty motion of frustrated, built-up befuddlement, Severus angrily crumpled up the piece of paper in his hands, thrusting it inside of his robe pocket. He began walking to one side of the room. Suddenly, he stopped, bending over to look at something.

_Damn it! _Bellatrix thought angrily, _I forgot to get rid of the bird. _

The linnet bird, twitching occasionally and moaning quietly, was in a crumpled heap on the floor. Suddenly, Severus whirled around, looking with an air of paranoia around the room.

"Who's in here?" he yelled, his wand pointing wildly from corner to corner.

_Should I tell him I'm here?_ Bellatrix debated with herself. _Might as well,_ she thought indifferently. With a gesture of her wand, Bellatrix removed the camouflaging spell she had placed on herself and emerged from her place on the wall.

With apparent relief, Severus lowered his wand, muttering, "Christ, Bellatrix, why are you here?"

She walked over to him, saying, "I was working here before you came in."

"Really? Is that what the bird's about?" Severus gestured to the animal.

Bellatrix sent a jet of blue light at it and the crippled animal disappeared. Then she turned to Severus.

"Who was that for?" she placidly asked.

Sheepishly, Severus looked away from her. After a moment, Bellatrix quietly guessed, "Lily?"

Severus looked at her with an expression of surprise mixed with shock and annoyance, then merely said, "Why do you even ask if you're just going to take the words out of my mouth?"

Bellatrix laughed at him, then continued, "Are you going to give that to her?"

With an expression of absolute desperation, Severus asked, "How can I?"

Bellatrix eyebrows raised and she modestly probed, "You really shouldn't hide your feelings about this. I don't know what's happened between her and James," she stopped, noticing how Severus cringed at the name of his tormenter before continuing, "But I think before we graduate, you ought to do something."

Severus looked at her again, a sort of confused expression on his face. "What can I do that will make me different from James?"

"To start, you aren't a prat," she smiled at him, and he laughed slightly.

"Well," she said, taking a deep breath, "I'll leave you to your thoughts." Then she walked out of the Room of Requirement.

Severus stared after Bellatrix. He shook his head, sadly thinking to himself, _I wasn't going to give it to Lily. I was going to give it to you._


	6. Chapter 6: Strength In Weakness

"Come on, Bella!"

The beautiful young girl stood, her wand raised, pointed at a dog held within a cage below her.

"_Crucio_!" she said again.

The dog merely cocked his head to look at her, curiously.

"Damn it!" she yelled frustratedly, walking away from the animal, which had not moved once since Riddle had conjured it into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Two weeks after Bellatrix had been introduced to and mastered the Imperius curse, Riddle had decided to start teaching her the Cruciatus curse. Freezing rain poured against the windows outside, mirroring the cold and dark classroom that Bellatrix was working in on that Tuesday night. While Tuesdays were usually less about spell-casting, Bellatrix had been trying to perform this spell for a week now and still she was failing.

She frustratedly sat down in a desk, holding her head in her hands, exhausted by her failing efforts. She had never had this much trouble with anything in her whole life. _Why can't you just do it?! _she yelled at herself.

Riddle sat down beside her. "You must think of your darkest weakness if you hope to inflict the greatest pain," he said quietly. "You cannot waver. Pain is something you must adore inflicting," he said. She at him, her eyebrow raised.

He returned her serious expression. "What is your most painful memory?" he asked.

She stared at him. He was completely sincere. She wasn't sure how to respond. Did he really want to know? Did he only want her to channel it towards casting this spell? She looked down, embarrassed slightly.

"I don't mean to pry," he added, noticing her shyness. "I only wish to help you master this spell. Sometimes confession can cure what suppression cannot," he said, as if having learned this through a hardship of his own.

She sat back, attempted to push back the hair from her face. Bellatrix exhaled and, with much struggle, tried to say, "I . . ."

Bellatrix couldn't find the words, _really_ couldn't, her intelligent and put-together vocabulary failing to express this part of her past.

She tried again, taking a deep breath, starting, "My father . . ."

She really couldn't speak, approaching the words and then turning away. Riddle waited, feeling the strangest mix of regret and pleasure at her struggle.

"I . . ." she was falling into a distant state of mind, slipping away from where she was right there in that classroom, away from Riddle's request.

"Bella!" he grabbed her hand fiercely, mentally casting the spell, _Legilimens!_

In a whirlwind of reality, Riddle found himself be transported back in time, standing in a dark room. He was in a memory of the past, ten years ago. His eyes focused on the pale, black haired child, her curls wildly surrounding her face. She had large, beautiful black eyes; he knew exactly what he was looking at.

In the room also was Cygnus Black, an old friend of Riddle's, who was a few years older than him when he went to Hogwarts. The man was sitting next to presumably his daughter on a bed. The little girl was silent, her body nervously frozen, her eyes screaming for help. Riddle watched as Cygnus touched her hair and the child squirmed away. Cygnus's rough hand grabbed her neck and she remained perfectly still as he aggressively unclothed his daughter, staring at her pale, small body. Her eyes were shining with fright—she was so scared, so young. Riddle felt an awful ache rise up in his chest as simply watched, letting this horrific past unfold before him, the beautiful Bellatrix Black plagued with a terrible secret her family had committed upon her.

The man was on top of his daughter now, and Riddle saw the girls' black hair scattered wildly around her, her fear climaxing as she screamed, "Please, daddy—"

Suddenly Riddle found himself again sitting in the classroom, his arm still gripping Bellatrix's. Her eyes flew open, and she realized what he had just seen.

Immediately he let go of her, incredibly cautious. She shook her head, mind full of miserable thoughts, remembering herself as a little girl wondering why her father stared at her so strangely, why he went up to her room at night and touched her the way that he did. Narcissa and Andromeda had grown distant from her, jealous of the attention that he gave her. But they were unaware of what Cygnus did behind closed doors. He had made sure to engrave in Bellatrix's mind the secrecy of what the Black family did.

She felt herself unraveling, she couldn't believe what Riddle had just watched. At this point in her life, Bellatrix had put the past behind her—she was over what her father had done to her, determined not to let it influence her life. In the presence of Riddle, especially, she wanted to pretend as though the past didn't exist. Bellatrix didn't anyone, specifically Riddle, treated her, as a student or a witch. But after what Riddle had just seen, it was unlikely he would look at her the same again.

Overcome with conflicting emotions, she stood up and walked away from him, suddenly feeling incredibly sick. She found a freezing stone column in the classroom and leaned against it. Cygnus would kill her if he knew that someone had learned of how impure the Black family was.

She wouldn't cry, not in front of her father, nor anyone. Tears were the manifestation of weakness, and despite having seen her weakest moment when she was a girl, Bellatrix would not present herself that way to Riddle now.

Riddle, having seen into her thoughts, was now completely absorbed in his own mind. His past was plenty painful, he remembered, as he had wished so desperately for parents during lonely, abusive nights in the orphanage. Simultaneously, Bellatrix had been begging for no parents at all.

But he would not indulge in his weaknesses, nor let her do the same. He knew how embarrassing and painful it was for him to know this about her, especially because Cygnus had probably made sure she would never speak of it. Riddle stood up and walked over to Bellatrix. He was apprehensive to continue, aware of the sensitivity of this topic, but finally spoke, "That is what you must think of when you cast the Cruciatus curse."

She looked at his eyes, serious and dark, urging her to continue. Then he turned and walked back over to the dog, and after a few moments she followed. Bellatrix stood closest to the animal and pointed her wand at it, readying herself.

"You must think of those terrible nights," Riddle said quietly, walking around her, while her eyes were glued to the dog, innocent and carefree. "You must remember the agony of watching your sisters living joyously, unknowing as to what was happening. You must remember how pained and jealous you were. You must think of the first night, that first time, when he didn't just stare at you, touch you," Riddle paused, closing his eyes, wincing inside at how cruel saying all of this was. He was now standing directly behind her, whispering in her ear. Bellatrix felt her blood boil, all the anger and rage she had ever felt exploding inside of her.

Riddle continued, pushing down the sick feeling that had overcome him, "But when he completely violated you. Your mother was merely sitting calmly downstairs, letting it all unfold, perfectly aware, your sisters asleep in the rooms next door, while you, Bellatrix, were raped by your father," he managed to hiss these last words, knowing they would set her off.

Bellatrix's fury exploded. She screamed, "_Crucio!_" and a jet of red light erupted from her wand, rippling through the small animal. It cried out in pain, contorting to strange body positions, yelping, its eyes begging for mercy. Bellatrix watched it tremble and jerk and twitch in pain. She reveled in its agony, she loved it. It was as if she was letting her pain go and giving it to something else, letting it slipp out of her fingers and transform into a beam of magic. It was, more than anything, a mutation of her weakness and rage.

She felt his hand rest on her shoulder, and the jolt of his touch sent an extra wave of pain through the animal. Bellatrix knew he was telling her to relax, but she couldn't; the thrill of causing someone else pain was too invigorating. She had just discovered it, how could he expect her to stop? But his grip pressured and finally she lowered her wand, watching the nearly lifeless animal flop against the cage floor.

They both stood, silently, staring at the barely alive dog for several minutes. Riddle was absorbing her; faintly, yet distinctly, her hair smelled like roses. She was so young—he was twenty five years older than her, with twenty five more years worth of living through agonizing torture. She seemed to understand that pain, though, and for some reason Riddle felt as though Bellatrix wasn't frightened by anything that the world held for her. She had mastered the trauma of a terrifying childhood and wanted to learn how to become a powerful, dark witch. He deeply admired that, and desperately wanted to take advantage of it. But after what he had just learned of her past? What man could she ever trust?

"Kill it," he said suddenly.

Bellatrix was surprised. _Kill it? _she thought to herself, _After what it took for me to torture it?_

"I'm sure you are aware with the incantation," he said after she had given no response.

"Professor, I . . ." she wasn't sure how to phrase that she had no idea if she could.

He whispered, darkly, telling the greatest concept he had ever created to his young student, "There is no evil in death, nor is there any good. Good and evil do not exist. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it."

She let those words sink into her mind. In a sudden wave of strength, Bellatrix pointed her wand back at the dog and said, firmly, "_Avada Kedavera_."

The blinding stream of green light left the dog lying lifeless within the cage. Bellatrix stared at its corpse, now left without a soul.

She turned around and faced him. He was much closer than she had realized. Only inches from his lips, she asked, "What is next?"

He looked down at her, intently dissecting her eyes. "Well, you will need to perform these spells without speaking," he reasoned. There was a pause, and he continued, "On a human."

Bellatrix mulled over his expression, seeing so many things in him. She saw a brilliant teacher, a powerful wizard, a broken soul, a dark man. She was obsessed and scared, intrigued in every way. She could see that he desperately wanted to love her, but it was clear that he was denying himself this. Bellatrix couldn't let him think that what happened in her past affected how she felt now. Her father meant nothing to her—she wanted to love in a different way, and she wanted to experience it with him.

Her red, seductive lips let a recurring expression slip past her teeth, "When can I start?"

Riddle stopped caring about her position as a student and his position as a teacher, about imposing on her, about what her father had done or about what anyone would think, and closed the gap between their lips. Bellatrix was surprised—it took her a moment to adjust to his suddenness. She let her lips move rhythmically with his, nothing overdone, just simplicity, purity. He felt so much release, so much tension flow out of him. Their eyes both closed, one of his hands rested on her hip, another her shoulder. Bellatrix's nails resting on the back of his neck. Their bodies pressed together synchronically like pieces of a puzzle: lost to each other for years upon end, always near finding each other but never quite connecting. Now the were finally fitting together. Her beautiful, glossy black curls slipped through his fingers, he soaked up the rose smell of her skin. Bellatrix was sealing her devotion to him by indulging in this pleasure. His lips gently brushed onto her neck, and she slowly sat on a desk as his mouth explored her further.

Her robe was slipping off of her shoulders and she felt her pale, smooth skin be exposed to the cold winter air. One of his hands was supporting her back now, the other tracing her front. Bellatrix's black gown, as always, isolated her torso and exposed her full breasts, and now that he was in the moment, his crazed desire to touch them could be satiated.

But as soon as he did, he withdrew himself immediately, quickly walking away from her.

"You are dismissed, Miss Black," he said, darkly, not looking back. With only a few strides of his long legs, he had disappeared into the classroom's back doorway. Almost equally as quickly, Bellatrix grabbed her wand and ran out of the classroom, having the strangest contradiction of feelings about that days' lesson.


	7. Chapter 7: Always More

Bellatrix rushed throughout the hallways and raced up flights of stairs, soon storming into the Slytherin common room. She spotted Lucius, Friday and Severus in a corner, surrounding a game of chess between Severus and Lucius. In a swift motion, Bellatrix slid into her empty seat and tried to forget about everything that had just happened in her last lesson, focusing solely on the game. Her friends looked at her with great surprise—she definitely did not look like herself

"Bellatrix," said Friday cautiously, "What happened to you?"

"What? Nothing," Bellatrix replied simply, then said to Lucius, observing the game, "Twelve moves until checkmate."

None of them were distracted by her changing the subject. "How did your lesson go?" asked Lucius, highly suspicious of her.

"It was fine," she hastily responded.

"Really?" he continued probing. "Did you practice any spells?"

"Yes," she replied.

"And how did that go?" Lucius raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," Bellatrix said lightly, running her fingers through her hair, making a slight effort to push it back.

"Was he impressed?" asked Friday

"Yes. I mean, no . . . I . . . It was fine," she settled on, trying to evade the questions.

"Oh my God, Bellatrix!" exclaimed Friday, "What is_ that_?"

Bellatrix looked at the direction her friends' eyes were trained and saw that they were trained on a spot on her neck.

"Is that a . . .?" Friday, so full of shock, trailed off as she was about to finish her sentence.

Embarrassed, Bellatrix let her hair bounce back to cover the spot, realizing that it must be from Riddle's kissing her neck. It hadn't been painful, but remembering . . . maybe he had bit her . . .

"Dare we say _Miss Black_ finally has an imperfection on her skin?" Lucius cleverly smiled and looked at her, hoping form a reaction with the use of Riddle's famous pet name for her.

"Don't be ridiculous," Bellatrix rolled her eyes and went as far as to moving Lucius's chess piece for him.

"Bellatrix, what did you do?" Friday asked, eyes wide, lips curved into a smile.

"With who?" Lucius pressed.

"You're all insane," Bellatrix pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders and waited for Severus to make the next move in the chess game. But even he had abandoned the game and was staring at her, face full of shock and concern.

"Oh my God," Friday gripped Lucius's arm tightly, her eyes even wider with a new thought coming to mind. "Bellatrix," she gasped. "You didn't . . ."

"What?" asked Severus, losing her train of thought.

"Bellatrix!" Friday yelled. The whole of students in the Slytherin common room turned to look at them. Bellatrix held her head in her hand, avoiding everyone's staring eyes, as she waited for the attention to stop being directed at her. After several moments, everyone went back to their discussions.

"I know we were joking about it, but did you actually . . . _do_ it?" Friday whispered.

Suddenly Lucius caught on to her train of thought and pressed, "With a teacher?"

Severus, eyes ignited, said, "_Riddle_?"

"I cannot believe you," Bellatrix looked at their curious eyes hounding her with questions. In an act of surrender, she gave up, sighing and saying, "What was I supposed to do?"

They all gasped at her.

"But we didn't _do _it!" she whispered fiercely at Friday, "And it won't happen again."

"That is the biggest lie I have ever heard," said Friday, "No wonder those lessons always take you such a long time."

"You are disgusting," Bellatrix spat at her. Friday laughed and sat back in her chair.

"I never thought I would see the day Bellatrix Black found her match," Lucius evilly smiled.

Bellatrix sneered at him and retaliated, "He is nowhere _near_ my match," she paused at their skeptical faces and then countered, "Well, you two will always have each other," she shot at Friday and Lucius, "And Severus still has his thing for mudbloods," she added. Severus shrunk back behind his black hair, preferring not to speak of that. She frustratedly continued, "Why can't I be happy?"

"Oh, you can be," said Friday, eyeing her beautiful friend, "But with someone twenty five years older than you?"

"Why does age have to matter?" she exclaimed, exasperated.

"Because it always matters!" Lucius yelled at her, egging on her frustration. "You're a child! He's a man! You might as well give up on whatever you see in him, because he obviously doesn't care about an ignorant little seventh-year."

"Lucius!" Friday exclaimed, angrily staring at her boyfriend. In a sudden moment of fury, Bellatrix stood and pointed her wand at Lucius. Immediately, Severus had his wand trained on her, while Friday watched Bellatrix cautiously and Lucius looked from the tip of the wand pointed at him to her black, raging eyes.

"Calm down, Bellatrix," Lucius told her quietly.

"Never tell a woman to calm down," she replied, equally as quiet.

"This is completely ridiculous," said Severus from her right, "What can you do to him?"

"What can _I_ do to him?" she smiled at his unawareness of her achieved skill, "I have learned more magic than I know what to do with, and I am just _aching_ to use it on someone."

"Bellatrix!" cried Friday, standing up and trying to pull at her friend's hand, to get her away from Lucius. Bellatrix stayed put, not lowering her wand or letting her glance flicker at all.

They were frozen, waiting for the first move. Bellatrix or Snape, Bellatrix or Snape? Their eyes dashed from person to person, debating who would evoke a fight.

And then Lucius said, after several moments, "She's afraid."

A jet of light exploded from Bellatrix's wand and struck Lucius in the chest. The entire common room had either gathered in the corner to watch the fight or fled, fearing for their safety. Lucius fell over and Friday went to his side, cursing at Bellatrix. Then Severus began casting spells back at Bellatrix, but she easily deflected them, her training with Riddle allowing her to understand the true immatureness of Hogwarts-taught combat.

With only slight flicks of her hand and no utterance from her mouth, Bellatrix blocked and cast curse after curse, until Severus was struggling to keep from being hit by spells. Friday revived Lucius and now two more wizards were fighting Bellatrix. Her spells flew wildly, her shields growing stronger and stronger. Friday, Lucius, and Snape were working hard, screaming spells at Bellatrix as loud as they could, mustering all the power they were able to.

But it wasn't enough. Bellatrix was far stronger, far more able than all of them. She let her magic fly from person to person, eventually watching Lucius's wand fly out of his hand and into her empty one. Then she began fighting Severus and Friday with two wands, and instantly Friday's wand was hers. Again it was her and Severus, back and forth. Bellatrix was winning this battle too simply, she could see the fear and concentration written across Severus's face.

And then her biggest blow struck him across his chest, a ripple of dark magic ran through his body, and Severus collapsed on the floor, a paralyzed heap.

"What do you think you're doing?" a voice from behind them said darkly. Bellatrix turned around suddenly, and everyone in the common room stared as Professor Riddle swiftly walked towards the students. Bellatrix's eyes were gripped by his, and he was furious with her.

She bowed her head as he walked over to Severus, inspecting his body. He pointed his wand and within moments Severus had regained consciousness and was staggering to stand up again. He turned to all of the younger students still in the common room watching the fight and after a fierce glance, they scurried to their dorms. Then Riddle turned back to Friday, Lucius, Severus and Bellatrix.

"What happened?" he said, his voice angry and infuriated.

"It was my fault, Professor," said Lucius quickly. "I started the fight, it was—"

"Don't try to pretend that it was anyone's fault but Miss Black," he angrily interrupted, and Lucius fell silent. Friday's eyes were wide and damp with tears, while Severus's hands grew steadily shakier.

"It was I, Professor," said Bellatrix, her head still bowed. "I cast the first spell, I fought them all, it was entirely my indiscretion."

"Indeed," he replied. "You could have killed three students."

"Yes, Professor," she responded, heart aching with embarrassment and regret.

"Ah, but Miss Black, you do not really know what that means," he said seriously, coming towards her, his eyes full of fire and anger. "The lives, the existence of three powerful souls would have been ripped from this earth moments ago because of your reckless, idiotic actions. The ending of a life is a powerful thing, Miss Black, you cannot treat it as if it is simple enough to be exercising on simple quarrels."

Her head stayed bowed but her eyes welled up with tears. She stayed looking down to save her crying from being seen.

"I am very disappointed in you," he said quietly, very close to her. "You are not the witch I thought you were."

She felt her tears almost flow over her eyes, instead resting comfortably on her thick eyelashes, which blurred her vision, making it harder for her to see.

He walked towards the exit of the common room, and stopping inches from her, whispered in the most terrifying voice she had ever heard, "I'm not going to teach you how to be powerful if you're intelligence will be swept away by it. There will be no more lessons, Miss Black. You disintegrated my hope in you. Is that clear?"

She felt her throat choked up with a desperation to cry, but managed to whisper, without her voice cracking, "Yes, Professor."

He swept past her and out of the room. Severus, Friday and Lucius all stared at Bellatrix, who stood still, head bowed, unmoving. She was furious at herself, terribly embarrassed by what she had done. Why had she been so reckless? Bellatrix knew Riddle was teaching her magic that she wasn't allowed to know, and instead of treating it with caution and discretion, she subjected it to her childish whims.

God, she hated herself. She had always hated herself. The world glanced at Bellatrix and saw a beautiful, talented woman. Looking in the mirror, she saw an object, a chipped cup, an insane beggar, hopelessly stumbling across the streets, day after day, searching for the missing part of her. Bellatrix had felt as if she had come close to discovering that other part of her with Riddle. But it was all gone now.

Lucius and Friday left, while Severus remained, staring at her from across the room.

He walked over to Bellatrix, still standing feet away. Brokenhearted, he whispered, "What has he done to you?"

She bit back a cry that had almost escaped through her mouth, blinked away tears. Bellatrix looked up, staring Severus squarely in the eyes and firmly saying, "Nothing that hasn't already been done to me."

Then she left, walking out of the common room and down the many staircases, down the halls and out of the school. Bellatrix stepped outside, rain pouring down on her. She let her tears flow freely as they blurred with drops of water, her pain coming up and being swallowed by the weather. Bellatrix wandered silently against the stone walls and soon stopped, leaning against the stone walls, her black hair completely wet and draping behind her. She wanted to disappear so badly; in fact, she could have, she knew a spell—

_No more magic,_ she thought to herself. Her black eyes lingered over the gray, clouded grounds, thick with rain. Her mind was empty, her arms lost all feeling. Bellatrix closed her eyes and let the raindrops stroke her face like the fingers of a man. Grimly, a thought echoed in her mind,

_There is always more._


	8. Chapter 8: Reconciliation

It was a cold, winter day. Christmas break had just started, and Bellatrix had again found reason not to return home, telling her sisters and parents that she was incredibly busy with seventh-year schoolwork. The real reason Bellatrix didn't want to leave was so that she could practice the curses without getting in trouble for being underage outside of Hogwarts. She hadn't been to lessons in weeks and in class, she barely made eye contact with Riddle, always managing to puke or get a teacher pass or some excuse out of staying for dueling portions of the lessons. They didn't really speak to each other, although Bellatrix had felt his eyes on her many times, in the hallways, in the classroom, in the Great Hall, in the library. She tried to stay strong, refusing to acknowledge him, but Riddle was tempting. And she so desperately wanted to go to lessons again. She had just finished the three Unforgivables: what came next?

Bellatrix was in the Room of Requirement, working on the Imperius curse. She had moved on to bigger animals now, working with lions and tigers. She would transform any old object into an animal of some sorts, practice her spells on it, then transform it back once she had killed it. It was quite an effective system, leaving no trace of the magic she had performed. She did this with books, furniture, silverware, anything she wanted.

She was controlling a lion at the moment, forcing it to shrink in on itself, contorting to positions impossible to be reached regularly. Animals usually shrieked in pain, but Bellatrix silenced this one as not to evoke anyone hearing her from outside the Room of Requirement and wondering what she was up to. She stared at the animal, trying to understand its pain. It was fascinating what the Cruciatus curse could do. She had been torturing a beaver now for the past month, and the progression of its mental unraveling was unlike anything she had seen before. At first it was still violent when she tortured it, afraid and scared. Then it grew silent, aching with exhaustion. It progressed to loose its mind, wandering around in dazes and looking at the world strangely. The stage she was currently testing it in was past this, now the beaver seemed human again, yet broken in some way, as if she was its puppet master now.

She finisher playing with the lion she was working on, and with a satisfying flick of her wand (she could now perform the Unforgivables nonverbally), the killing curse took the life of the mangled creature. Then Bellatrix transformed it back into a textbook, and, picking it up, turned around to leave the classroom.

The Room of Requirement door melted closed, but when Bellatrix turned around, a startling sight met her: Sirius, her younger cousin, was face to face with her, an odd smile on his face.

"Whatcha up to, cousin?" he asked nonchalantly.

Bellatrix didn't speak, merely fended him off with her eyes, and made to walk past him. He blocked her attempt, however, and kept her in her position.

"Wanna tell me what you're doing in the Room of Requirement?" he asked again, still boyishly playful.

"Fuck off, Sirius," she muttered, pushing past him.

"Ah, feeling a bit angsty, are we?" he continued, walking beside her has she tried to get away. "Because you've been doing some naughty magic in there, haven't you?"

Bellatrix hated Sirius, her ignorant cousin. She looked at him with an expression of utter hatred and indifferently replied, "Care to test that?"

"Now you're getting feisty!" he remarked. "Go on, cousin, let's see what you've got. Hit me with your worst. Gonna transform me into a dog or something?" he smiled.

Bellatrix threw a glare at him and kept walking silently.

"Don't stop now, Bella," he nastily continued joking, "I wanna see what you can do!"

They continued walking, passing by a hall of teachers' classrooms. Sirius was continually pushing Bellatrix closer and closer to a side of the hallway, she was unable to break past him.

"Little bitch," he said, still playfully stupid, "I bet you can't even turn me into a dog, can you? Maybe a squirrel, but a black-haired, shaggy-maned beast?" he caught her angry eye, taking a stab at her physical appearance, and almost completely pushed her up against the wall.

Suddenly, Bellatrix was jerked to a stop by a hand that grabbed her arm from the side of the wall. She looked up in alarm to see that Riddle, standing in the archway of his classroom, had stopped her. Sirius froze, knowing the terrors of this teacher.

"I'm sure Miss Black could waste her time doing many interesting things to you," he said quietly to Sirius, his dark eyes fiercely penetrating the young boy's immaturity. Sirius's smile vanished and he gulped.

"Sorry, Professor, I didn't . . ." he stuttered quietly, then ran down the hallway and left Bellatrix alone.

Riddle had yet to release his tight grip on Bellatrix's arm. She turned to look at him and he slowly let go of her. His eyes were not angry, the way she had seen them last in the Slytherin common room. They were that look of fascination that she gave to her tortured victims, a wanting to understand.

"You have been practicing," he said quietly.

She silently nodded, not breaking her eye contact with him.

"Well," he said, "Another lesson, then?"

Bellatrix hoped her shock and excitement didn't show on her face. He was waiting for a reaction, something from her, but she wouldn't give it. She merely replied, "When can I start?"

He turned away from her, walking into the classroom to hide his smile. She was so beautiful, so smart—he was creating the perfect female member for his group of followers. She would be brilliant at torturing and killing, having been privately taught by him. But would he let their relationship grow into anything more? Maybe for the time being at Hogwarts, but once he started gaining a name for himself, nothing could distract him.

She followed him into the classroom, watching his black robe flourish darkly behind him. She stared in awe at his swiftness, his strength, his masculinity. What was he thinking? Did he want to pretend as if the last lesson had never happened? Had she lost all chances of having a . . . _thing_ . . . with him? _If you fucked this up, _Bellatrix thought to her conscious, _I will kill you._

"Out of curiosity," Riddle asked simply as he searched a bookshelf in the corner of the room, "What is the most complex magic you have ever performed? Not just curses but potions as well, permanent altercations, intricately-designed magic."

Bellatrix thought to herself. She had done a lot of complex potion-making with Snape, performing some serious damage to several of her Gryffindor peers. Then she remembered last summer, which she had devoted the entirety of to working on a project. For two months, she formulated Felix Felicis, a luck potion. She was successful, after nearly destroying her creation three times, and the product had given her two cups worth of the potion.

"Probably Felix Felicis," she responded after thinking about it.

"_Really_?" he said in amusement, continuing his search through his bookcase. "When did you do that?"

"Last summer," she recalled.

"Do you still have some?" he asked, curiously.

"Yes," she replied simply. She knew he must have been smiling, knowing she was rather a braggart for blatantly saying such a thing as successfully creating Felix Felicis.

He found the book he was looking for, pulled it off the shelf, and walked back over to her. "This," he said, handing it to her, "I found particularly interesting. It shed light on some rarely-discussed darker topics," he raised an eyebrow, remembering his reaction to reading it for the first time. "You are through with the Unforgivables, but there is darker magic in this world."

_Darker than death? _she thought to herself. She nodded, looking down at the leather-bound book, spine cracked and old.

"What is it called?" she asked quietly, seeing there was no title on the book.

Darkly, Riddle replied, "Magic like this is not in a book that's been published."

Bellatrix nodded, her nails tracing over the pages. She was about to open the book when Riddle suddenly stopped her.

"Bellatrix," he said quietly. She flashed her eyes back up to look at him.

"Don't disappoint me again," he warned, severity written across his face.

She wasn't sure what to do. She was terribly afraid of him, yet she was something like 'in love' with him. _What is this?_ she thought to herself. _Why can't you just make up your mind? Master or lover? It can't be both._

There was a moment, her lips were so close to his, she could just lean forward and . . .

"Not today, Miss Black," he said, quietly. Immediately she averted her eyes and took a step backwards. Inside he laughed at her innocence, so young, so childish. But he retained complete calm exteriorly, not faltering in his gaze.

Synchronically, they turned away form each other. Bellatrix walked out of the classroom, the leather-bound book clasped firmly in her hand, while Riddle went into his back room, trying to shake thoughts of the beautiful girl from his mind.


	9. Chapter 9: Restricted

"So," said Friday, coming up to speak to Bellatrix the day after students had started coming back from holiday break, "How are you?"

Friday was cautious, having not approached Bellatrix since her explosion. She felt, however, as Bellatrix's closest friend, that it was her obligation to restore their friendship. Severus was still afraid of Bellatrix and Lucius was still mad, which gave Friday a self-determined obligation.

"Oh," Bellatrix shifted over a pile of books so that Friday could sit in the chair next to her, surrounding a table in the common room. "I'm fine."

"What did your parents give you?" Friday asked, taking the spot beside Bellatrix.

"Money," Bellatrix responded simply, "You?"

"So much rubbish I don't know what to do with," Friday muttered frustratedly. Bellatrix smiled at her friend.

Friday, seeing she had caught Bellatrix in a happy place, kept going with her rant, "I mean seriously, what do you expect me to do with tons of books and shit? _Read_ them? As if," she muttered, and Bellatrix laughed slightly.

Friday smiled at her and their eyes mutually forgave each other for their fight. Neither girl was fluent in apologies, and besides, it was easier to just let the past go and progress forwards.

"You still pissed at Lucius?" Friday said.

Bellatrix looked at her with an unbelievable expression. "_No_," she said sarcastically, "He decided to serenade me with apologies, so we shagged and made up."

Friday laughed. "How sweet of him."

"You should know, you're his girlfriend," Bellatrix said quietly.

"It's better to not give men an excuse to talk about you."

Bellatrix scoffed at her friend. They paused, staring at the dying fireplace in the Slytherin common room. The slivers of embers were enough to mesmerize anyone, their endlessly slow death strangely captivating.

"What are you going to do about Riddle?" Friday asked.

"Pretend nothing happened, I suppose," Bellatrix responded. "I don't have much of a choice."

"Yeah, you do," said Friday, "You could waltz into his classroom wearing the sluttiest thing you own and . . . make amends," Friday laughed and Bellatrix shoved her friend, almost pushing Friday out of her seat.

"I can't believe how badly I messed up," Bellatrix said, choosing not to tell Friday of her reconciliation with Riddle and to continue acting as if they were still not speaking.

"Ah, well," Friday remarked sadly. "It's all going to work itself out. Just think. Come June and we'll be out of this shit hole, we can go wherever we want," she gazed dreamily into the distance as images of Paris flashed across her mind.

Bellatrix looked at the clock on the common room wall and noticed that it was eleven. "I have to go," she said quietly, getting up from the table. "There's a book waiting for me in the library."

"I'll find you if you don't come back," Friday called after her. Bellatrix responded with a flip of her black, glossy curls over her shoulder.

Just as Bellatrix walked out of the common room, someone was standing in front of her, preventing her from going down the steps. Bellatrix looked up to see the face of none other than James Potter, the arrogant Gryffindor who had stolen the heart of Snape's mudblood friend, Lily.

While Bellatrix did hate him, she respected his bravery and ability to withstand a fight. They had dueled many times over the years in classes and he never failed to attempt fending her off. He never won, though, either, which gave Bellatrix room enough to hate him.

"Relax," James said when she pulled out her wand defensively. He held up his hands in surrender, continuing, "Just give me a minute. I was going to ask if you know where Snape is . . . ?"

She eyed him skeptically. He had tormented and bullied Snape many times, always leading Bellatrix to physically impair James later on out of revenge, but his serious expression seemed to speak of something more pressing than silly feuds.

"To whom does it concern?" she asked indifferently.

"Lily," he said quietly, and Bellatrix's attention was now fully captivated. Nervously, he continued, "She's not speaking to anyone, not eating, not coming out of her room. We don't know what to do. She's—"

He paused, mustering up the words, "Asking for Snape."

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow of surprise at him. She was laughing maniacally on the inside, amused at the circumstances; while Lily still was in love with another man, the only one who could help her from a depression was awkward, little Severus.

"I haven't seen Severus return from break yet," she responded simply.

"Oh," James hastily continued, "Well I'm not asking you to tell him, but if you happen to see him and you have a moment to conversate about something other than the scary shit you guys talk about," he jokingly added. Bellatrix's incredulity was not moved, her indifferent stare not faltering.

Nervously, James kept going, "I mean, if you can . . . if you see him . . . just let him know, will you?"

Bellatrix was skeptical of the boy. While she did hate his attempts to be humorous and the fact that he was a Gryffindor, she recognized his concern for this girl. She wouldn't _deliberately_ try to hurt her.

_Yet, _Bellatrix thought evilly.

"Fine," she stiffly replied.

Relief flooded James's face, "Thank you, Bellatrix," he said. Then he turned and hurried away down the corridor.

Bellatrix walked down several flights of steps and through several corridors before coming upon the entrance of the library. Immediately, she headed into the Restricted section, which she had constant access to because of permission for extra reading from every teacher in the school. She escaped into endless rows of tall bookcases, running her long, black nails over the spines of old books, scanning for something she hadn't read. As her fingers searched, her mind wandered. Bellatrix wondered why Lily would be so ill. Was it physical, mental? Mental illness was always harder to deal with, Bellatrix knew that firsthand. Could Lily be plagued with a grievous past as well?

_Doubtful, _Bellatrix thought, _Those childish Gryffindors think that all the happiness in the world comes from family, from love. If only,_ she rolled her eyes. _Can't happiness come from pain, too? Can't it come from anything? Why does it have to have one image, one label? Why does—_

"Miss Black," the dark voice of Professor Riddle suddenly jolted Bellatrix out of her train of thought.

"Professor!" she quickly replied, spinning around to face him, coming out of her reverie. "Exonerate my absentmindedness."

The library was dark, shadows lurking in the corners. Riddle leaned against the bookshelf opposite her, only a few feet separating them.

"Why do you find yourself in the library at midnight?" he asked, a slightly amused expression of suspicion on his face, as if trying to piece her apart.

"I . . ." She wasn't really sure why, the excuse she had made to Friday was not exactly true. Bellatrix had needed to remove herself from the conversation, emerge into solitude. The library gave Bellatrix that, allowing her to drift into a world of knowledge and magic. She felt more connection with literature than she did with most people.

It was as if Riddle could understand what she felt without her needing to say it. He continued, "May I ask why you're in the magical objects aisle?"

"There was a term in the book that you gave me, actually," she said, remembering something she did want to research, "I was unfamiliar with the idea and it didn't elaborate. It was a . . . _horcrux_?" she questioned, unsure of the pronunciation.

Riddle's eyes widened, his eyebrow flickered upwards, a dark smile on his face. "I was wondering if you were accustomed to the subject. You will find no book in Hogwarts with information pertaining to the subject. I, myself, had to find out by asking one of my teachers seventh year," he said, remembering the boorish Horace Slughorn and how easily he gave up information.

"I understand the idea of splitting one's soul," Bellatrix continued, "But how, and why?"

"Well," he began, making an effort to appear as if remembering was a conscious ordeal, not that he had the information readily on hand with the drop of a hat, "The concept of ripping the soul into pieces is that preserving it in an object will allow the individual to live forever, after their body has been rid of. One, in essence, is immortal. How does one do this?" he responded, a smile in his eyes. "I think you know the answer."

"Killing," she replied quietly.

"Yes," he said, pulling forward slightly, now not leaning against the bookcase. "Murder tears the soul apart," he moved closer to her.

"Could one do this not only once?" she asked, voice quiet and near trembling, "But multiple times? For instance, five, six, or—"

"Seven," Riddle interrupted her, now so close that Bellatrix was eye level with the pale, smooth skin stretched across his neck. "Hypothetically, yes."

Her black eyes inquisitively looked into his sharp, dark brown ones. "Does it have to be hypothetical?" she whispered.

He looked down at the beautiful girl, her pale face illuminated by the slight light from the moon, reflected through stained glass windows. She was so much like him as a student.

He lightly ran his fingers over her body, caressing the smooth, black silk of her dress. She closed her eyes, unwilling to do anything, almost afraid. His pale hands moved down her sides, over her stomach, hovering above her small waist. Slowly, his cool lips pressed against her pale neck, and she felt her heart skip a beat. With perfect grace, his nails traced the low cut of her cold, smooth, black gown. His lips brushed over her angular jawline, nearing her mouth. His long, pale fingers rested on her hips.

"Why not?" was his whispered reply.

Her lips suddenly pushed against his, tasting his cold tongue. Both clad in black, definitive silk, they seemed much less teacher and student and more two wizards in love.

Her black nails lightly held onto his shoulders. His hands lightly pulled at her neck, forcing her to look up to him, their lips rhythmically touching. He was above her, quite tall, and his fingers sunk into the deep, black curls above her neck. She pulled at his collar, hugging him to her body. Like shadows, they blended into the obscure folds of the library, hidden from the rest of the world.

She gasped quietly when his lips left her mouth and kissed her neck violently, biting into the skin. His hand aggressively grabbed her leg, which was exposed through a long cut in her black gown. His other hand, behind her back, pushed her against him. His mouth moved down to her breasts, partially exposed through the plunging neckline of her gown. Her hand grasped onto the back of his neck for support when he continued lightly biting into her skin. She almost cried out but managed to clamp down on her tongue, afraid of Riddle realizing what he was doing.

Suddenly, the door of the library squeaked open. Immediately, Riddle withdrew himself, pushing Bellatrix away from him and walking swiftly to the back of the section, disappearing amongst dark bookshelves. She stood, adjusting her clothing, pulling her robe closer over her shoulders and fixing her hair to cover any marks that he may have inflicted. Bellatrix began walking towards the exit of the Restricted section, shiftily hiding in the shadows as to not be noticed by whoever came in. She was near the doorway when a voice called, "Bellatrix!"

"Friday!" Bellatrix replied, the tension leaving her body, "Why are you here?"

"Why are _you_?" Friday responded less than kindly. "It's one in the morning! I told you I would come get you if you didn't return," she said, an eyebrow of accusation raised.

"I was distracted," Bellatrix replied briefly as they hurriedly walked out of the library and back to the common room, "I didn't find what I came for."

_I found something better, _she thought to herself.


	10. Chapter 10: Navigating Public Relations

Winter was fading away as the weather grew warmer. Snow turned to rain, and the trees began budding leaves. Hogwarts changed from an icy palace to a chilly castle, the spires no longer covered in blankets of frost. Finals were approaching, but for Severus, Lucius, Friday and Bellatrix, this wasn't a major concern, for school wasn't much of a challenge.

Still, studying needed to be done. One evening, Bellatrix was sitting in library reading about transformation potions when someone approached her.

"Bella!" someone called, walking up to Bellatrix and pulling a chair out from the table she sat at.

"Don't call me that," Bellatrix said, startled at first but then irritated.

James Potter nervously waited for Bellatrix, who was ignoring him, to look at him and give him the attention he clearly desired for the conversation about to take place. She would not budge her glance from her potions book, however, and decided to let him squirm in place silently sitting beside her.

After a few minutes of trying to awkwardly wait for Bellatrix to initiate their talk, James blurted out, "Have you talked to Severus yet?"

Bellatrix calmly replied, not taking her eyes off of her book, "Opportunity hasn't presented itself yet."

"Look," said James seriously, "I don't know what's happened between your friendship with him, but if I need someone else to do this for me—"

"Why do you care so much?" Bellatrix said suddenly. James looked taken aback.

"What?" he said, almost shocked.

With extreme curiosity, Bellatrix asked, "Why do you care so much about Lily?"

James blatantly replied, "Because I love her."

Bellatrix studied the ignorant boy's expression. His eyes shone of something so real, so fierce, passionate yet gentle. It had taken over his existence, prevented him from sleeping (as dark circles under his eyes showed), and occupied his every conscious thought. Yet that passion, it was still there, burning away under the melting front he showed to the world. Everyone assumed Bellatrix had never had any problems in romantic affairs, for who could not fall for the beautiful, young girl? But the only side of men that Bellatrix had ever seen was one of greed and disgust, just with a desire to take and not with one to love. _Love,_ she thought to herself. _Love is . . . Riddle . . . _

"Bellatrix," James cut in, something much less sincere now in his eyes, "Clearly you understand the complications of pleasing what—or should I say _whom_—you desire," he said, innuendoing something Bellatrix decided to ignore.

Placidly, James simply said, "I would be more than happy to let Dippet know that his favorite young Slytherin is visiting her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher several evenings a night, for reasons better left unexplained."

Bellatrix now felt her insides boil, watching the carefree, evil expression on James's face. In a low, dark voice, she muttered, "You wouldn't dare—"

"Oh, but I would," James smiled wickedly. "Talk to Severus. Tonight."

Then James left the table and walked out of the library, leaving an angry, conflicted Bellatrix still sitting at the table with her potions book.

_Do people know? _She nervously pondered. _Is it obvious? Do they think I'm . . . _shagging _him?_

Anxiously, Bellatrix skimmed through several pages of the book, not absorbing in any of what she was reading.

_Shagging him, am I? _Bellatrix thought to herself, laughing slightly. _Is that really the reputation I hold in this school? Even if I was, would anyone believe me if I said that I wasn't? Probably not, right? You look like a slut, of course they think you bring it upon yourself. _

_Just like the way you brought your dad upon yourself, right? _

Bitterly, Bellatrix bit down on her tongue, suppressing tears from dripping down her cheeks. Did people think that she dressed the way she dressed because she _wanted _the attention? If anything, Bellatrix was dying to get away from it. Putting on the black, silhouetting gowns each day was Bellatrix's only chance at something like confidence. Her self-esteem had been shattered long ago, so many men had taken their share from it. The world saw someone so beautiful, but all she felt was brokenness. She would give anything to have a different body, be a different person, someone that no one looked at.

Now she was stuck in a mess that couldn't be escaped. There was a strange connection she shared with Riddle, but their relationship couldn't last much longer. Would this become something outside of school? When she graduated, could they be together? Bellatrix fantasized visiting him teaching a class, volunteering an instructive duel with him for demonstration to the class of the dark arts, later escaping to his bedroom and lavishing in—

"Bellatrix!" said a voice sharply. Black eyes looked up to see the face of Lucius Malfoy staring down at her.

"Are you listening to me?"

Bellatrix, almost dazed, nodded her head limply.

"God, what's happened to you? Friday said you had been a bit distracted, but this is out of control," he said, sitting in the chair James had just been in.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. Then, with a serious note, she asked cautiously, "You're not telling people false ideas about my . . . relationship with Professor Riddle?"

"False ideas?" Lucius scoffed at Bellatrix. "There is nothing false about the way you two act with each other, nor does it take me telling people for them to figure it out."

"Bastard," Bellatrix muttered, turning her attention back to the book still in front of her.

"Listen," Lucius said, all severity in his tone, "I'm sorry about what happened, in the common room. Everything got out so of control, I don't know what came over me."

"I didn't play fair, you weren't expecting me to duel like that," Bellatrix replied in a somewhat apologetic tone.

"I'm just saying," Lucius continued, "That if you want to hook up with a teacher, you need to be realistic about it. It's a dangerous game, and I don't think either of you two know how to play it."

"Care to enlighten me on the rules?" Bellatrix irritatedly retorted.

Lucius laughed slightly. "For one, don't be so defensive when someone talks about him."

"You know what you said wasn't fair," Bellatrix rolled her eyes, holding her book up to her face.

"No one's ever going to be fair. You have to work around them," Lucius's hand pushed the book down to the table, forcing her to look at him.

"What are you saying, Lucius?" Bellatrix tiredly asked.

"Be careful," Lucius said seriously. "If you don't do this right, both of you could end up in a courtroom, facing major charges, like—"

"Rape?" Bellatrix cut in angrily. Lucius looked at her in a sort of sorrowful expression, knowing Bellatrix had not given consent to most of the people who took advantage of her.

Bitterly, she quietly continued, "I'll take my chances on my own, thanks for your concern."

Lucius nervously looked at her before finally saying, "Bellatrix, what do you expect to have happen after you leave Hogwarts?"

Bellatrix stared angrily at him. "What?"

Lucius looked at her, almost outraged. "Do you think that he's going to marry you and you'll have a family and be a couple? Bellatrix, he is not a man you want to get involved with, my father went to school with him—"

"So did my father!" Bellatrix exclaimed, "And I don't want a fairytale romance, if that's what you think."

"Then what do you want?!" Lucius said.

Bellatrix was about to scream, _Love!_, but then bit her tongue. Retracting her aggressiveness, she calmly replied, "I don't know what it is, Lucius, but it's giving me pleasure and not harming anyone else."

"But it could," Lucius said, trying to again barge in with legalities. "You're a minor—"

"And your an asshole," Bellatrix sarcastically cut in again. "And you're one to talk. Why is it you've taken an interest in my dear sister?" She asked, almost playfully.

Lucius looked rather taken aback. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh please," Bellatrix rolled her eyes, "Like what goes around doesn't come around? I'm not shut out of the gossip just because I'm in it. You and Narcissa are quite close these days. Don't worry," she said, looking at his squirming anxiety, "I won't tell Friday. It's just . . ." a strange vengeful look gleamed in Bellatrix's eye and she continued, quietly, "I didn't take you as someone into younger women. I guess all men have their weaknesses," she evilly smiled at him.

Lucius, realizing he had truly lost this fight, exhaled in surrender, got up from the table, and left the library.

Almost exasperated, Bellatrix finally returned back to her book. Not ten minutes into her reading someone walked up behind her. Bellatrix sensed their presence but chose not to turn around, pretending they weren't there until the person demanded her attention. She expected to angrily outburst at whoever was there, but withheld her emotions, knowing better than to do something unexpected without knowledge of the situation—in her case, who would interrupt her.

She was right to be cautionary. Within moments, ecstasy suddenly crept through her bones when she felt the hands of the person behind her on her shoulders, long fingers slightly digging into her pale, exposed skin.

"I don't like to be ignored," a dark, quiet voice said.

Immediately, Bellatrix slammed her book shut and began, "Professor, I—"

"Your apology will only anger me, Bella. I merely wished to see you," he said, siting once again in the chair previously occupied by Lucius and James.

She flashed her black eyes at him, unsure of what he wanted. He kept her glance, matching her with every intensity.

Under the table, his hand reached for her leg. Bellatrix used every conscious nerve in her body to retain calm exteriorly while his pale, swift fingers, perched moments ago on her shoulders, now ran over the exposed skin of her thigh. An invisible shudder moved through her body, she broke eye contact with him as she closed her eyes in satisfaction. Amusement flashed across Riddle's face watching the young girl unravel at his touch. He moved his fingers further up the cut in her gown, going underneath the fabric, almost tracing at—

"Professor!" she said suddenly, opening her eyes widely. Bellatrix knew that there were still people in the library and after what James and Lucius had left on her mind, she was feeling rather conscientious of the appearance of her time together with Riddle. He was shocked at her exclamation and casually removed his hand.

Calmly, Bellatrix continued, "I have several dilemmas for you which I encountered about a lesson from the other day. May I come to your classroom later tonight for sufficient resolution to my questions?"

Riddle smiled slightly at her. "Whatever you desire, Miss Black."

Flourishing his black silk cloak, Riddle got up from the chair and swept away, leaving a stunned Bellatrix still at her place, who frantically opened the potions book again and tried to act as if nothing had happened. She stared at the place where moments ago, three distinctly different conversations had taken place. James, Lucius, and Riddle asked so much of her, just as every person she knew did. Bellatrix was still furious with Severus, she didn't want to deal with informing him of problems about _his_ love life, let alone make up with him. Lucius was telling her to stop seeing Riddle, while Riddle demanded the opposite. Bellatrix sighed in exasperation and resolved to slamming the book shut, sensing a tingle when the silk of her gown slid over the skin where Riddle's fingers had touched her.

She hastily shoved the book onto a shelf and left the library, thinking about the evening ahead of her. She had to confess to Severus now that James was threatening to tell Dippet of her complicated relationsihp. But she couldn't just ignore a chance spend time with Riddle, especially after she had requested to come to his classroom. Pondering what she would do, Bellatrix truly had no idea about the consequences that her actions that evening would have on her school year, let alone the rest of her life.


	11. Chapter 11: The Last Lesson

As Bellatrix took her seat next to Friday, who was talking to Lucius as they ate dinner in the Great Hall, she felt as though an extraordinarily large number of eyes were trained on her today. Choosing to ignore them, her black curls bothersomely falling into her face, Bellatrix self-consciously pulled her black cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Waiting as long as her nerves allowed, Bellatrix finally interrupted her friend's conversation, blurting out, "Have you seen Severus?"

Friday and Lucius turned to look at her. "He just got back," said Friday, studying Bellatrix's expression, noting the distress clearly apparent on her face. "Why?"

"Where is he?" Bellatrix said urgently, eyes growing wide at the mention of his being in school.

"In the common room," said Lucius slowly, staring at her with uncertainty. "Is there a problem?"

Hastily standing to go, Bellatrix responded hastily, "No, nothing at all."

"Going so soon? You haven't eaten," Friday said, looking at her friend with concern.

"It's fine, don't worry . . ." As Bellatrix ran off, her unfinished answer trailing behind her, Friday and Lucius turned back to their conversation, ignoring her strange behavior.

Running up the stairs to the Slytherin common room, swiftly darting through large groups of students, Bellatrix burst through the door and spotted Severus walking down the steps from the male dormitory.

"Severus!" she exclaimed, walking over to him, relief on her face. He looked up at her. With cautionary eyes and a tight jaw, Severus remained silent, unsure of why she was talking to him, seeing as they hadn't spoken since the duel.

"I need to tell you something," she said, quietly panting as she came up to him.

Other Slytherin students, upon Bellatrix's entering and heading to Snape, backed out of the common room, knowing perfectly well of the fight that had ensued there previously between them and not wanting to possibly get killed again.

Severus raised a hesitant eyebrow as she gathered her breath and continued, "James came up to me today and—"

"Potter?" Severus spat, interrupting her. "What does he want?"

"It's about Lily," she said, sympathy replacing the urgency in her voice, "She's—"

"I don't care," said Severus unresponsively, moving to walk past her.

Frantically, Bellatrix grabbed his arm, stopping him and saying, "Severus, you need to listen, Lily is—"

Angrily wrenching his hand from her grasp, Severus bitterly responded, "I know you think that I care about her, but all she is to me is another mudblood cluttering up the pureblood magical world."

Shocked and slightly pleased by his response, Bellatrix calmly said again, "That's wonderful, but—"

"Anything you say about her will only anger me," Severus cut her off shortly, turning away from her again before he had to look in her enchanting black eyes any longer.

For a moment, Bellatrix stood still, her thoughts racing. She could hear Riddle's voice echoing in her mind from when she had seen him in the library only hours ago. _Your apology will only anger me, _he had said. Shaking her head slightly, as if to clear her mind of the shockingly familiar reverie, Bellatrix desperately continued, "Severus, please—"

"It's not your job to pity me!" he said with an edge of fury in his voice.

Bellatrix stopped. Quietly, she responded, "Is that what you think I'm doing?"

Hurt and pain in his eyes, he softly muttered, "That's all you'll ever feel for me."

"What are you talking about?" she said, completely baffled, her tone one of disbelief, "When did think that I stopped caring about you?"

Severus stopped, frozen in his own emotions. He wanted to shout a thousand things, tell her how jealous he was of Riddle, how much he wanted her to look at him the way she looked at that man, how he hadn't slept since their fight in the common room, how he had fallen in love with her since the moment he had seen her, how he had pushed away feelings for Lily when he found them for her (although they certainly weren't gone), how she made him feel lucky to be a Slytherin, how she . . .

In a sudden, instinctive motion, he grasped her shoulders with his hands, pulling her forwards, and kissed her. Bellatrix's eyes were wide with shock as his mouth pressed against hers. Surprise, disgust, and flattery circled through her mind—most of all, she had no idea Severus would every do anything this bold. It was a slimy kiss, balancing between overdone and underdone, giving a rather awkward impression upon Bellatrix of how Severus would be in bed. In a strange way, Severus felt oddly real, the unpracticed-ness of his touch was sweet, unlike many other men she had kissed. But he wasn't . . .

_Riddle . . ._

She pulled away and gasped for breath. Severus studied her expression, searching her black eyes for something, anything. She looked at him and there was a silent resolve, an affirmation in which Bellatrix's expression conveyed the message that she couldn't see him as more than a friend. His eyes changed from one of desperation to one of pain and anger. He abruptly turned away from her and began walking out of the common room.

"Severus—" Bellatrix began, stepping forward and grabbing his arm.

Sharply, Severus broke away from her touch and proceeded to dash out of the common room. Bellatrix stared after him, stunned by a mixture of confusion, guilt, and anger.

_But isn't he in love with Lily?_

Frozen in thought, Bellatrix suddenly realized that she hadn't told him what James had wanted her to. She sunk into a chair along the walls of the common room, weakly surrendering—it wasn't worth it to chase Severus now, after all that had happened. Bellatrix knew that Severus didn't actually believe in prejudice against blood type and thought it worth trying to talk to him again, but approaching him now that he . . . that she . . .

Suddenly, Bellatrix sat up straight, remembering she had told Riddle she would go to his classroom that night. Yet for the first time since she had started her lessons, Bellatrix was wary of this meeting with him. It was as if going there tonight almost made it official, sealing whatever proof there was of her relationship with him. Somehow the teachers would find out, whether it was James or someone else that told them. If she stopped what they had between them, she wouldn't have to worry about whatever rumors there were. Every time she saw him it was a risk. She closed her eyes and imagined the very first time she laid eyes upon Riddle, standing so poignantly at the staff table in the Great Hall. Laughing slightly to herself, she thought of the girl many months ago, who had no idea this would happen to her, that she would face this situation.

Then Bellatrix's thoughts strayed to the letters her mother had sent her, telling her of marriage proposals for her that were being contracted and sent to their manor every day. Clenching her fists, she recalled her mother telling her that she would be sent home from Hogwarts for a brief period of time to meet the man her parents chose and formally confirm their engagement. She had no idea who he would be—she hadn't even graduated yet! Already, she was being designed to be another man's property, shipped off to live in his unquestionably extravagant house and carry on his pureblood family tree.

The grandest act of instinct she had ever felt gripped her heart, and Bellatrix suddenly ran to the common room door, bursting from the room into the main stairways of the castle and dashing down the steps, her black gown flying behind her like a shadow. Slowing down, trying to dampen her excited breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, Bellatrix approached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Just outside the door she paused, almost as if giving herself the chance to turn back. But then she pushed second-thoughts aside and clenched her jaw, walking into the room.

He heard footsteps and looked up. In the dim light a silhouetted figure stood in the doorway of his classroom. Dressed in a flattering black gown, her black curls cascading around her like snakes and smothering her neck, back, and shoulders, with her dark, black eyes shining of youth and excitement. Her glowing, pale skin contrasted fiercely with the strapless and sleeveless dress, revealing the prominent displays of her bones, yet fullness of her breasts. Dagger-like black nails grew from her thin, long fingers, matching the slight demand her heaving chest showed as she had run to his classroom.

"Bellatrix," Riddle said quiet seriously, after a few moments of hypnotic staring, remembering why she had came. "What is your question?"

Her luscious, dark voice replied, "May I have a lesson?"

His lips twitched into a flicker of a smile—he knew quite clearly that what she was asking for was not about school. Distance between them shortened as the breathtaking woman walked further into his classroom and he stood, coming out from behind the desk, going towards her. She was so beautiful, so young, so mesmerizing and desiring. Their lips were not even millimeters apart, still in the moment. He replied to her question in nothing more than a whisper;

"Where shall we begin?"

The answer presented itself when Riddle's lips pressed to hers, sealing what the fraction of space between them there was. His hands pulled her body against his, her thin, pale arms reached up to rest behind his neck. There was no regret from either of them, no more lingering thoughts of what should be the placement of a student and a teacher. Their lips still moving rhythmically, Riddle's hands moved further down her body, gripping her hips with a fierce strength, and she felt herself weaken in his arms. Suddenly, she gasped out of their kiss, her knees collapsing at his firm touch. In a swift motion he gathered her within his arms and apparated them into a room foreign to her. There was almost no light to illuminate this new space, moonlight casting view on what darkness she could see.

He let her stand again, and she looked around the room, taking in her surroundings. It was freezing. There was a fireplace, although it looked to have not ever been lit. Her eyes wandered until they rested on a bed, vast and covered by an arching metal structure which whisking, black silk curtains hung off of, making it transparent and luminous. The bed itself was decadently filled with many pillows, all wrapped in black silk, with layer upon layer of dark, lucid blankets.

She heard his dark voice from behind her: "I find a need for my place of rest to be far more extravagant than any other aspect of my life."

Her eyebrow raised, face completely indifferent as the bedroom consumed her attention. "Of course," she replied lightly.

His presence was looming behind her, she felt his cold breath lightly pounding on her neck. His hands touched ever so gently upon her bare, thin shoulders, then ran down her arms. She closed her eyes and let the gentleness of his touch feel every part of her exposed skin. His nails moved up to lightly rake across her soft face, while another hand slowly undid her dress. Bellatrix was frozen in his hold, wanting to turn and examine him the same way yet waiting, as if respecting his clear reservation to enjoy her first.

The gorgeous black gown fell to the floor, a puddle of silk and slim fabric, revealing to Riddle the back of the young girl's body. It was very pale, shadows lingering along the impressions of her prominent bones. Her entire upper torso was completely bare; he was dying to turn her around but he let his lingering glance gaze upon her legs and white, flawless, glowing figure a little longer. She tried desperately to control her breathing but all attempts failed when his hands slowly ran over her waist. He gently ran his hands through her hair, curls cascading far down her back and neck, sensing every movement of her body.

Bellatrix could not take it, letting him stand behind her and touch what he pleased. She turned around to face him, and he removed his hands from her for a moment, his eyes trained on the thinness of her legs, arms and waist, yet the fullness of her breasts. His eyes met hers again, and he saw a look of intense fierceness within her black, shallow depths. He pulled her up against him and kissed her, his lips and tongue shaking slightly as his hands pulled her exposed body against him. He noticed his tie being undone by her dark fingernails, his cloak falling to the ground. Soon he stood, just as uncovered, his pale skin illuminated like hers in what bit of light there was within the almost total darkness of his room. He had strong, rigid arms, a tight, firm stomach and abdomen. Bellatrix's fingers skimmed over his muscles, absorbing his true maturity in age.

He backed her up, Bellatrix's bony back falling onto the great bed. The black silk molded and formed around every curve, every element of her body. Riddle stared at her, black curls sprawled gorgeously across the bedspread, her thin, pale arms reaching out across folds of the cover, nails gently smoothing over ripples in the fabric. Her eyes were closed, lashes dark and full. Suddenly they flashed open, and she arched her body up, arms reaching and pulling him down on top of her.

Bellatrix parted her legs slightly, hips pulling upwards, begging. Her chest rose and fell dramatically, and Riddle couldn't wait any longer. He lowered himself further and in a swift motion, entered her. A sharp intake of air followed by a pained yet pleasured moan came from her lips. Bellatrix refused to open her eyes. Riddle couldn't believe the immensity of how incredible this sensation was, it sent through his body the most bizarre wave of relaxation. Speeding his pace, the love transformed into desire, their cries and moans more sharp, but their bodies aligning to their unique, strange, yet perfect rhythm. At last, Bellatrix's eyes flashed open for an instant, her body arching upwards, and Riddle collapsed beside her.

They were breathing heavily, their chests rising and falling in tandem. The room was silent for a moment, the only sound was their silent breathing. She dared not look at him, afraid of what she might see. Would he be pleased? Would he be angry? Would he send her out of the room. Both frozen in aphrodisiac impact, they lay for several moments, uncertainty sweeping their thoughts. He stared at the nervous girl and an oddly thrilled desire took hold of his body. In an act of recovery of sorts, he placed his lips on her neck. She lifted her chin respectfully, letting his mouth examine what he so desired. All over her neck, her face, her breasts, Riddle's meticulous lips touched each surface with great hunger. Desperate to hear her cry out again, he moved his mouth lower, searching past her stomach, and she gasped when his tongue moved inside of her.

He smiled at her pleased pain, tenderly licking and prodding within her. Bellatrix's tenseness evaporated from her body as he pushed and pulled around between her thin legs, opening them wider and wider. A ripple of satiation washed over him as he watched the young girl be overcome with lascivious desire. He climbed further up her body, regaining his powerful place above her, and suddenly entered her again, for a second round, this time pushing more moans out of her. Her dark nails reached up to his shoulders and dug in, trying to find something firm to hold on to.

He paused and gave her a moment to recover, anxious to touch her again. Bellatrix closed her eyes, disbelieving of what he was doing, what he wanted from her, how much he wanted her. Growing impatient, he sat up and pulled her down on top of him, her long black curls smothering them both. As if to prove to him her passion, she pressed her lips against his in a violent kiss. He bit into her lower lip, tasting the young girl's sweet blood, licking it up from a raw wound his teeth had made. She didn't even notice the pain, only her hands moving to support herself. Then, letting her stay in place above him, he slid down and pried open her legs, touching her again with tongue and fingers. Her arms locked, knees grounded by the silk bed, she threw her head back, her black curls sliding onto her back, screaming in pain. His lips spread into a smile at the sound of her delicious shrieks as he continued to prod her sensitive skin.

Just as the day began to break, she fell asleep in his arms, draped in the flawless silk. He lay awake all night, looking at Bellatrix, touching her, stroking her, kissing her. It was the most incredible night he had ever lived through. He had not believed that he could ever love, but after what she had done to him, something broken in him would forever be healed.


	12. Chapter 12: The Duel

Weeks slipped by in a series of short moments as Hogwarts neared the end of the school year. Well into Spring, the weather had warmed quite generously, leaving blooming flowers and bright grass smothering the large, rolling hills of the castle estate. The Forbidden Forest seemed far less imposing as its creatures strolled along the border, nipping at clovers and berries. Sunlight shined through all of the above-ground classrooms, bringing a certain element of positivity to each student's attitude. Even the dungeons, cold and grim, felt lighter as the season changed.

Bellatrix, who was walking with Friday to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class, couldn't help but feel that more people were staring at her than usual. Why were their stares so penetrative? She had never felt them be so overbearing as she did now. Several Hufflepuffs darted their eyes to look at her and then hastily scurried down the hallway. Bellatrix turned her head to watch them run by, her black eyes never leaving their sight.

"Bellatrix . . . are you even listening to me?"

"What? Of course," she said quietly, turning back to her friend.

Friday stared at her with a sort of knowingness Bellatrix had always hated. Sighing, she continued in an almost desperate tone, "God, Friday, I don't know what I'm doing. A week has gone by since . . ."

She trailed off, leaving Friday to open interpretation of what she was referring to. Rolling her eyes out of frustration, Bellatrix continued, "What am I supposed to do?"

As they rounded a corridor corner, Friday started, "You've got to tell him you want to meet again. Men never figure anything out on their own," she rolled her eyes. "Can you ask him after class today?"

"I don't know . . . would it be better or worse to do it when we're alone?" she thought suddenly.

Friday hesitated. "Oh yes, that's a problem . . . if someone sees you two alone you could get in trouble, what with James spreading his rumors like wildfires, but how will you be able to say what you need to say with other people around?"

"I—Friday," Bellatrix said as they entered the Defense Agains the Dark Arts corridor, "What is the Headmaster doing here?"

Both girls stared as Headmaster Dippet came down the hallway and walked straight into the class they were about to go into. The Headmaster was only ever seen out of his office during assemblies in the Great Hall. Seeing him walking amongst the students and going into a teacher's classroom during class hours was completely unheard of. Quietly, Bellatrix and Friday edged along the wall to stand by the door, attempting to listen to what conversation they assumed was taking place inside the classroom.

"Professor," the Headmaster's voice spoke.

"Headmaster," Riddle's voice acknowledged, surprised. They heard footsteps as he walked over Dippet. Smoothly, he began, "How may I be of service?"

"I just came to sit in on one of your lessons. Standard protocol for this time of the year," he nonchalantly explained as they heard him move further into the classroom.

"Sir?" Riddle asked, confused. The Headmaster never did anything like this; why was Riddle so special? Bellatrix's thoughts suddenly flashed to the possibility that the Headmaster had heard one of James's rumors. Quickly, she dismissed the thought, afraid of what anticipating it might bring.

"Calm down, Tom. I only want to watch what you're teaching," Dippet said, inferring a nervousness Riddle's voice disguised elegantly.

"Of course, sir," Riddle said, his smooth, attractive power claiming every syllable.

Suddenly, James entered the corridor and came up to Friday and Bellatrix, who were still standing outside of the classroom, eavesdropping.

"Why so hesitant to go into the classroom?" he joked. "Surely, _Miss Black_, you must be accustomed to that room by now."

"Disgusting blood traitor," Friday muttered, then pushed past him as she walked into the room.

James lingered outside the doorway a little longer, staring at Bellatrix. His eyes tried to scare her with his boyish superiority and Bellatrix took in absolutely none of it, but in the middle of their silent stare-down Lucius came up to the Gryffindor and Slytherin.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I've got a class to get to," he said, squeezing in between them to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room.

James's expression weakened to a sneering arrogance as he followed Lucius in. Bellatrix stood still for a moment, still paralyzed by the intense moment, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Severus coming, and immediately went to class.

As she took her usual seat beside Friday and across from Lucius, she turned her head slightly to examine Headmaster Dippet's presence. He was seated in the corner of the classroom, shadows dancing around him, head bowed down, his eyes severe but his face soft. He looked tired, broken almost, as if each breath was a hardship for him to take. She studied his expression, searching for something as to why he could be here, praying that it had nothing to do with her. Suddenly his face jerked upwards and quickly she averted her eyes, afraid of any unwarned Legilimensand her thoughts being caught off guard, but the Headmaster did not take any notice of her behavior.

"Class," Riddle began as the last few students floated into the room, "Today I would like us to have a dueling competition, for the enjoyment of your Headmaster," he nodded to Dippet, whose old face cheerfully lit up into a smile, and Riddle smoothly acknowledged his apparent pleasure by nodding and then continuing, "Seeing as there are so many of you, I presume this will take most of our class. Think of this as a checkpoint in the course, a test, of sorts, of your combative knowledge. For purposes of improving your ability, I would like each of you to start by dueling with another classmate you have not yet practiced with. Whoever looses shall return to their seat—the winner will fight with another until we have narrowed down who is our class's champion. Any questions?" his dark eyes scanned the room briefly before he commanded, "Begin."

Immediately, the students stood up, and each of them scanned for a classmate they had never dueled with. The divide became clear between Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Eying each other with distaste, they avoided pairing up, claiming any available Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs in the class. As the classroom was still an odd number of students, someone would be left without a partner, and Bellatrix was determined for it to not be her. Swiftly, she stood and made eye contact with the first person she saw. It was a Gryffindor, who's first name she did not know, although she was fairly certain his last name was Longbottom. He stared at her weakly and she saw him nervously gulp. Laughing slightly, she crossed through the empty floor, in which the desks had been cleared to the side of the room, and walked over to him.

Nervously, he began stuttering nervously, "B-Bellatrix—"

"Let's just get this done," she muttered. He backed up slightly, and so did she, giving them a fair room of distance to fight with. Raising her wand, she stared intently at the fear in his eyes. She smiled slightly, taking in her obvious power in this situation. Then she shot the first spell.

Verbally, he quickly deflected it with a counter-hex. She raised an eyebrow of slight surprise at his reflexes, but did not hesitate to continue sending spells at him. She was silent the entire time, having now perfected the art of nonverbal spells. He was almost screaming shields and spells back at her, trying to keep up with her rapid-fire pace. She saw sweat appear on his brow, his heart rate quicken, his movements grow sloppier as he struggled to keep up with her. Then, with a small flick of her wand, she paralyzed him, his frozen form falling to the ground.

She let him sit for a moment, watching his perfectly still form as if it were a freshly slaughtered animal. Then she sent a charm at him, lifting the spell, and watched as he staggered to his feet.

"You win," he said weakly, turning to walk to the desks along the side of the classroom. Bellatrix rolled her eyes in amusement and then looked for another person to duel with.

As she scanned through the classroom, she noticed Riddle speaking with the Headmaster. Dippet seemed to be enjoying himself immensely as the two wizards pointed out students and discussed their ability. Then she tore her eyes away from him, afraid of being caught staring. She noticed a Gryffindor wizard who was walking away from a duel with a Ravenclaw girl, which the Gryffindor had apparently won. She recognized the round face, the red hair, but what was his name . . .?

Arthur Weasley saw her staring at him and shouted over the yells of other student's duels, "Want to duel?"

She nodded, then walked over to the space he had been in from his last duel. They backed up several feet, giving about twenty feet of room between them, and then began fighting.

Fight after fight, Bellatrix continued to win. Most of the class was now lined up against the walls, staring at the remaining fights, and the period was coming to an end. Only two duels remained now: Bellatrix against Lucius, and Severus against James. Bellatrix and Lucius's battle was much less competitive than Severus and James's; while he was a tough opponent, Bellatrix was able to enjoy the fight, challenging herself to rather bizarre kinds of spells, as opposed to standard defensive/offensive ones.

Suddenly, Lucius dropped his wand, his fingers feeling like jelly. Bellatrix smiled at her friend and then sent another spell at him, the feeling returning to his fingers. He shook his head in amusement at her, holding his hands up in surrender.

"What was that one you sent to me a short while ago?" he asked, curiously. "It was purple and green—"

"Ah," Bellatrix nodded, remembering. "That was an Entrail-Expelling curse, I believe." Lucius looked at her with a sort of amused concern, then laughed and walked over to the wall, standing beside Friday, who had also been beaten by Bellatrix, although she wasn't quite as happy as her boyfriend, for Bellatrix had left a jinx on her that made her skin a blue color.

Bellatrix turned to watch the only other duel taking place beside her. James and Severus were head to head, spells flashing from their wands, incantations screaming from their lips. They were racing back and forth around the room, sending spell after spell at each other. Bellatrix walked over to the wall, clearing out of their way, watching carefully as they fought with no hesitation.

Then her eyes flashed to Riddle, who was still standing beside Headmaster Dippet. The Headmaster seemed to be in a cheerful resolve, also focused on the boy's dueling, but Riddle's eyes were dark and full of concern. He was clearly trying to figure something out, the expression on his face to serious to be about a silly fight between students. Bellatrix was almost tempted to search into his thoughts, understand what he was thinking. Suddenly, his eyes flashed up to meet hers. Immediately, she forced her thoughts of him to vanish from her mind, afraid that he might want to do the same thing to her. She saw the most accomplishing sliver of satisfaction spread across his face as he stared at her, his muse, his perfectly trained fighter. There was no doubt that she was more skilled in combat than any other student in this school, and for certain, more than most of the staff. He had built the perfect follower, inscribed her loyalty to him in her mind with a knife.

His eyes lazily shifted back to the duel, and Bellatrix almost felt disappointment in not being able to stare into them any longer. She directed her attention back to it as well, realizing in that moment that whoever won was who she would have to fight. Of course neither was a challenge (she had beaten both of them before), but fighting was always nerve-evoking. Neither wizard would be easy to combat, although they were nothing compared to the adrenaline rush of her duels with Riddle, when she had to actually save herself from potentially being tortured or killed.

Suddenly, Severus tripped over the hem of his robe and fell, his spell aimed at James flying askew. James then disarmed him and Severus's wand fell to the ground. All of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs cheered as Severus hurried to pick himself up from the ground, searching for his wand, and James towered over him, victorious

"Alright there, Snivellus?" James called. Severus barely looked at anyone as he grabbed his wand and frantically pushed himself against the stone classroom wall with the other Slytherins, who sympathetically whispered snide comments about the other Gryffindors.

"That's enough class," Riddle said, and in an instant the room was silent. James was staring around at the classroom, taking in the empty dueling floor and knowing he had one opponent still.

"Who's left?" he said sharply.

Bellatrix graciously strode out from the shadows into the center of the classroom. James's cheeks flushed suddenly with something like embarrassment, his eyes almost nervous behind his circular glasses. He walked up to her, his posture stiffening as he approached her.

She raised an eyebrow of amusement at his defensive position. "Scared, Potter?" she mocked.

He gripped his wand tightly. "You wish," he muttered, quietly. Then they backed up, giving the full length of the classroom between them.

"And just for fun," Dippet announced, sitting up straight in his chair, "Why not throw in some house points? Fifty to the winner!" he giddily decided, making the tension in the room only heighten. Then he called, "Wands at the ready!"

Bellatrix raised her wand, which was pointed directly at James's heart. She was almost tempted to kill him.

"On the count of three," Dippet bubbled excitedly. "One . . ."

Bellatrix saw James's grip on his wand stiffen, his body tense. She told herself to relax, but only adrenaline ran through her body.

"Two . . ."

Bellatrix spared a look at the Slytherin students, who were eagerly anticipating her first move. She saw Friday and Lucius staring at her desperately, and Severus standing beside them. He was looking away, his eyes glued to his feet out of shame from his loss. The smallest feeling of pity went through her mind, almost wishing she had told Severus the night that he had kissed her that she still wanted to be his friend, his companion, his fellow Slytherin conspirator. But she was no longer any of that to him. Just a classmate.

"Three!"

"Stupefy!"

Bellatrix blocked James's spell hastily, caught off guard by his instant start and her lingering train of thought. She cursed herself for her lack of focus and proceeded to fire spells at him, her magic backing him into a corner out of a need for distance from her never-ceasing jets of magic. She could have finished the duel right there had it not been for a spell of his that nearly sliced off half of her hair.

"Almost got you!" he said through gritted teeth, still blocking the spells she was sending at him.

"Ha!" she yelled as one of her paralyzing spells hit his left arm, leaving it lifeless and limp by his side as he continued to fight her with his right.

"Your students are absolutely incredible," Dippet commented to Riddle in the corner of the classroom while the duel continued to play out. "All of them have advanced so much under your instruction, they fight like they're Aurors. Truly, I don't know how you could have taught them to fight like this," he said, stopping and watching the beautiful witch brand her wand like a whip, James just managing to escape the wrath of its fury. Impressed, he continued, "She's bloody brilliant. Her skill level is unlike any woman's I've ever seen."

"I thank you for your remarks with the most humble gratitude," he said quietly, not taking his eyes off of Bellatrix for a moment. "I believe my private work with her has helped her take advantage of her potential."

"I have to say, I came here under the impression that . . ." Dippet trailed off, his answer lost in a collision of color in front of him. "After sufficient speculation, however, I have no reason to see why anything you are teaching is questionable."

"Of course, sir," he said quietly, taking note of everything the man had said.

James flicked his wand and made a gash on the skin of Bellatrix's hollow cheeks, blood lightly dripping down her face, tarnishing her pearly white flesh.

"Careful, Potter!" the dark voice of Riddle announced, hating to see any drop of her magical, pure blood spilling. James growled and continued fighting Bellatrix, who never stopped for a moment, her black curls flying wildly around her. Bellatrix suddenly sent a bolt of dark light at him, and James screamed, dropping his wand (which flew into Bellatrix's hand), clutching his eyes, and falling onto the cold, stone floor.

Casing a counter-curse, Bellatrix alleviated James from his yelling fit. He removed his hands from his eyes and sat up on the ground, his wand still in Bellatrix's hand. He looked up at her with furious, red, sore eyes.

"What the hell, Bellatrix?" he yelled.

"Conjunctivitis Curse," she muttered, walking over to him, handing him his wand.

As he began to stand up, he pleaded with Headmaster Dippet, "Sir, that was Dark Ma—"

"Well done, Bellatrix!" squealed Headmaster Dippet from his seat. "What an incredible performance! Fifty points to Slytherin!"

The Slytherins cheered while James's posse groaned, mumbling something about cheating. Friday had faded back to her normal skin tone in that time and was looking quite happy for her friend, as was Lucius, who still stood next to her. Severus refused to look at the victor, shielding his eyes from the glowing sight of her.

"And well done, James," Dippet said, standing up and coming over to the two wounded students. "You two ought to go down to the hospital wing and clean yourselves up," he said, gesturing to the cut on Bellatrix's face and James's pink eyes and limp arm. "Outstanding, both of you, truly marvelous. I hope I'm looking at future Aurors," he said, expectantly smiling at them both.

"Yes, sir!" James said excitedly, regaining his superior posture and disposition.

"Miss Black," Dippet said, turning to her. "What is it I can hope to see you do in the future?"

She pushed a generous mass of curls away from her face as she quietly replied, "I know not yet, Headmaster."

"Well, my vote of confidence is in whatever you put your mind to," he said, patting her on the shoulder, "But I would hope to see you using that talent to good advantageously someday."

Then, turning away from her, Dippet walked out of the classroom, nodding to Professor Riddle as he went.

"Class is dismissed," Riddle said as soon as Dippet had left the hallway. "Excellent work today everyone, I am very pleased with your combat. For the next class, I expect a four page paper on the benefits and drawbacks of regulated magic. Be prepared to share your thoughts."

"I'll see you at dinner," Friday whispered to Bellatrix as she pushed to the doorway along with the other students, nodding in Riddle's direction (who was putting the desks back in their proper arrangement with several motions of his wand), grasping Lucius's hand, and pulling him out of the classroom with her. Bellatrix was about to leave behind her when she was stopped by his voice.

"That was quite a performance, Miss Black," he said quietly.

She turned back to him, her glossy, black curls cascading down her back, swirling around her angular face. Her red lips, the same shade as the cut on her face, barely moved as she replied, "I hope it was enough, Professor."

"Oh, it was much more than enough," he amusedly said, lowering his wand as the last desk slid into place. He turned to examine her, his view of her body enough to distract him from his thoughts. His eyes lingered along her face, then stopped at the sight of her wound.

"Does that hurt?" he said, his eyes, fixed on the bloody flesh.

Bellatrix instinctively reached a hand up to her cheek, her nails brushing lightly over the wound. "Not as much as it surely appears to," she said, feeling how far across her face it stretched.

Riddle walked over to her and swiftly grabbed her hand, pulling it back down to her side. He hovered his fingers over the skin, and when they touched her, a white light glowed on contact, healing the gash. His eyes were fixed on the wound, his fingers trailing along in its bloody path, making it disappear, which neared her mouth. She stared, not breathing, her black eyes looking fixedly into his dark ones, adoring the gentle concentration in his thoughtful expression. Then the tips of his fingers, which were covered in her blood, rested softly on her mouth. She looked down at his fingers, which were lightly tugging at her lower lip, making her lips part. Then her tongue slipped between her lips and licked off the blood on his fingers, seductively biting at him. He watched her and took in the beautiful, dark witch he had created. _He _had made her, and she was his. In a power-hungry sweep of desire, he pulled his fingers out of her mouth and pushed her chin up, his lips pressing hard against hers. She wrapped her hands around his neck as his long, cold fingers tangled in her curls, pulling her neck closer to him. She gasped out of their kiss suddenly. They stood, frozen for several moments, breathing heavily with desire.

"You will come back to this classroom tonight, Bella," he demanded quietly after a moment. "There is one more lesson I must teach you."

She nodded and then he released her, turning and going to through the door of the back room. Bellatrix stood still and then hurriedly grabbed her books and ran out of the classroom, smiling to herself as she fantasized about that evening, the taste of his skin and her blood still lingered on her tongue.

A cloaked figure turned to see the black-haired witch come out of the classroom and fly down the hallway. His greasy black hair fell in front of his face as tears of anger and pain stung his cheeks. He bitterly walked in the opposite direction as the girl, bounding up the gray, stone steps of the corridor and heading to Headmaster Dippet's office, overpowered by a sense of determination to beat the man who had taken the woman he was madly in love with.


	13. Chapter 13: Severus Snape's Solecism

A black-clad, thin young boy trampled up stone marble steps, panting heavily as he went and wiping away less-than-obvious tears on his cheeks, which had mostly been absorbed by the greasy black hair that fell in front of his face. His cloak wrapped awkwardly around him as he ran, nearly tripping him several times. He was approaching the Headmaster's office when a thought struck him suddenly and he froze in his tracks. Then, frantically twisting around, he ran the other direction, bounding back down the steps, although running through several different corridors this time around. Finally reaching the Slytherin common room, he slammed inside, bursting into his dorm room and frantically lifting open the trunk that lay at the base of his bed.

"Severus?" said the smooth voice of Lucius, who was sitting on his bed across from Severus's. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Severus mumbled as he rummaged around in the trunk, sniffling as the tears continued to run down his face.

Lucius now looked genuinely concerned. "Severus," he said cautiously, getting off of his bed and approaching him, "What happened?"

"Leave," the slurred reply came from behind a sheet of bent-over black hair.

"Severus, I'm not—"

"Leave!" he yelled maniacally, his bloodshot eyes turning to face the shocked expression on Lucius's face. "Now!"

Lucius looked extremely worried and rather taken aback. Silently, he left the room, closing the door with a resonating _click_. Severus finally found what he had been rummaging around in the trunk for and pulled it out with a certain triumph. A small, glass vial was clutched in his hands. He held it up, the setting sun that peaked through the dorm room window creating just enough light for a reflecting sparkle of beautiful brightness to bounce off of the glass, cylindrical surface and hit Severus's eyes. Popping off the cork with his thumb and wrapping his fingers tightly around it, he placed the tip of his wand against the side of his head and braced himself.

He let his thoughts be overcome by a seventh-year Slytherin girl and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that often preoccupied his mind. He recounted them absorbed in each other while Severus stood inconspicuously against the stone wall only moments ago, the way the man's eyes hungrily gazed at the girl, the way she desperately moved her lips against his, how their pale bodies clothed in black silk flowed together, their hands grasping each other's skin with fervent desire. It almost became too painful for Severus to bare thinking about, but slowly, a thin, glowing, wispy thread drew out of his head by the tip of his wand.

Once the recent memory came to an end, Severus let the thread that connected from his wand to his head fall away into the vial, which, opening his eyes suddenly, he then stuffed closed with the cork. Standing slowly, Severus watched as the filament of memory danced within the vial, flitting around the glassy cylinder. He almost wanted to smash it, destroy it, but a voice that dug deep from within a place of hate and pain helped him put it in the pocket of his robes and walk out of his dorm room, going back to the Headmaster's office.

As he walked down the halls, Severus gazed at the students who merrily conversed about nothing close to the importance his mind was focused on. The Headmaster's office lied at the end of the corridor. Severus nervously approached it but then froze, staring at it as one stares at a predator: afraid and unsure. Dare he charge ahead, taking it on with head-strong force? He could still turn back now—that wasn't to be ruled out either. _It's as if I am to wake sleeping dragon without him ever finding out it was I who bothered him,_ Severus pondered. There were a considerable number of details he hadn't planned out. How would he get into the office without the password, or the help of another student who did know it? Second, how could he give it to Dippet without it being clear that he, Severus, had seen what was in the contents of the vial, let alone been the owner of the memory? Continuing to think about his options, Severus moved to stand in the shadows of a stone column along the side of the hallway, out of view from the few people walking by.

Then he saw a flash of red hair come bounding down the hallway, yellow-and-red robes trailing behind her, green gems of eyes sparkling in the air brilliantly. Severus remembered the girl who he had loved, the girl who smiled, the girl who he spent hours playing with to escape the wrath of his drunken, raging father. And he remembered how she had fallen for the boy who tormented Severus's waking moments, the boy who had turned him away from her. He realized just how much she had changed in seven years, and just how much he had as well.

"Lily!" Severus said suddenly, coming out from behind the column and stopping her from going any further down the hallway.

"Oh! Severus," she said, slightly startled, the smile fading from her lips as she took in the black-haired, pale figure towering in front of her.

"Lily," Severus repeated, a certain edge of desperation in his voice. "Lily, I need you to do something for me. Please," he said, his voice begging. She nodded uncertainly, allowing him to continue.

"I need this," he pulled the memory vial out of his robe pocket and held it up before her, "To get into the hands of Headmaster Dippet. Do you know the password to his classroom?"

She continued to stare at him with a confused expression but nodded at his question. Thankful, he rambled on, "Lily, please, you don't need to tell me what the password is. It's just that I can't give this to him myself, I need someone else to. If you could just tell him you found it in the library and it had a note wrapped around it saying that he _must_ see it immediately—"

"What is it?" she interrupted, her attention now on the memory.

"It's . . ." he trailed off, not sure quite how to explain it. "It's just terribly important that the Headmaster sees it. Please, Lily, I haven't asked anything of you in the ten years I've known you and this is all I will ever need from you. Do this for me now. Please," he begged, his hopelessness almost pitiful.

"Alright," she said, her expression surrendering to compliance, taking the vial from his hand. "It better not get me in trouble."

"Thank you, Lily," Severus said weakly. "But remember . . . you didn't get it from me."

She eyed him warily once more before walking past him and approaching the Headmaster's office. Whispering some secret word, the Hippogriff transformed to reveal a stone, spiral staircase heading up to a room above. She spared one last look at Severus, a glimmer of a smile on her lips, but he would not be there to see it, for an overwhelming mixture of nerves and relief had hit him, forcing him to turn back down the hallway up walk up to the Slytherin common room again. Exhaustedly, he collapsed on his dorm room bed when he entered his room, his thoughts imagining the conversation that could be taking place within the Headmaster's office on the other side of the school right then.

_"__Miss Evans, I would like to ask again how exactly you acquired this memory, for its contents are rather shocking!"_

_"__Headmaster, I assure you, it was by no means a memory of mine, I have no idea what it is! I saw it in the library, with a note wrapped around it saying that it needed to be taken to you immediately. Of course I have no idea what it is, that's why I brought it to you. I apologize if it is . . . disconcerting . . ."_

_"__It was just sitting out in the open, in the library?"_

_"__Yes, Headmaster, right between the fifth-year transfiguration textbooks!"_

_"__Don't shout, Miss Evans! I do not blame you for anything, but whoever it was that saw this must be tracked down at once. You truly have no idea who could have seen this?"_

_"__Sir, I don't even know what it is, I haven't seen it personally."_

_"__Of course. Please leave Miss Evans, I must think."_

_"__I am sorry if I have done wrong, Headmaster—"_

_"__Just leave, Lily."_

Severus could almost glimpse the contorted fury on Dippet's face and smiled lightly at the thought. He could imagine Lily turning out of his office, thoroughly distraught and confused. Then he pictured Dippet bustle down from his classroom to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, bursting through the door, demanding that Riddle explain himself, proceed by firing him—

"Severus?" the cautionary voice of Lucius cut into the thoughts of the black-haired young boy as the dorm room door creaked opened again. "You alright?"

". . . Alright . . ." Severus acknowledged in an inquisitive tone.

"Do you need anything?" Lucius asked again.

"No," Severus curtly replied before turning to face the wall on his bed.

"See you at dinner," Lucius said slowly, the unsureness not once leaving his voice. He backed out of the room and left Severus alone again to think and rethink and overthink all of the different possible situations that could come after what he had just done.

His thoughts strayed to Bellatrix, in all of her beauty and romantic pleasure, how breathtaking she was when her perfect smile lingered on her lips. He thought of how she could make whoever she was talking to feel important, make them go from eternal desperation to something close to hope. He thought of the wild, black curls that drowned her all the time. He thought of how vastly intelligent she was, how she didn't impose her knowledge but didn't shy away from the fact that she used it. He thought of how much she had been forced to face in her past, for despite how much she tried to hide it, he knew from firsthand experience exactly what it looked like to pretend as if years of parental abuse had never happened. He thought of the many duels they had fought, how stunning she looked when she was whirling around, her black silk skirts flying as she focused all of her attention on solely her opponent. Nothing in the world could distract her. He replayed her incredible victory before James today, how he had been left battered and wounded while she had escaped with only a single cut on her pearly, white flesh.

Then his mind rested on the tears that would stain the perfect, pale cheeks of Bellatrix Lestrange and the brokenness that would take over her heart when Riddle was fired, the way it had taken over his. And while a dark voice within him had egged Severus on to do such acts before, now only guilt and betrayal took residence in his feelings. He sat up suddenly, the regret too heavy a burden to take lying down. Rushing to awkwardly walk out of his dorm yet again, Severus scurried from the Slytherin common room and began wandering down the hallways, as if he could abandon his thoughts by walking them away. His footsteps echoed in the arching ceilings as students began to disappear the further he divulged into the school.

Turning into a hallway, Severus froze. Walking with his back towards him was none other than James Potter, heading in the same direction as Severus was. The corridor was empty, save for the two of them. Severus felt his heart quake, his blood boil as he thought of all of the horror that boy had inflicted upon his life. James had stolen the girl that he could have loved and made Severus seem a fool in front of everyone else. A rash idea sprung upon his mind—nothing bad would have ever happened had it not been for James. If James had never tormented him, he would have accepted Lily being with him. If James had then not taken Lily from him after bullying him, Severus would have never grown so dependent upon his fantasies with Bellatrix. And if that hadn't happened, he wouldn't have desired ruining her romantic relations with Riddle, and would have not just committed the grandest act of betrayal one can commit as a seventh-year Slytherin student.

In a blind act of numbness, Severus pulled out his wand, aimed it at James's back, and screamed, "SECTUMSEMPRA!"

James fell to the ground with a sudden thud, collapsing on the stone floor as blood began to spill out of him, soaking his red-and-yellow robes. Severus stared in shock at the corpse, bleeding away only meters from him. Fear and confusion rose up in his chest, and Severus skittishly bounded back the way he came, tearing his glance away from the blood-red body, running down hallways he had never been in just to try escaping the horror of what he had done. Burned into his mind, he could still see red blotches blossoming up on James's cloak, the way he had just fallen to the ground after being hit, defenseless and unarmed.

_Look at what you have done! _Severus thought to himself. _My spell, that was MY spell! Mine! What if you killed James? What if you did? You've as good as ruined Bellatrix, you've driven Lily away from you, you've damaged the only people that make both of them happy, and you've left yourself with absolutely nothing. What kind of a monster have you become?_

For the last time that evening, Severus retired to his dorm room and flopped on his bed, a sickness taking over not just his stomach but his whole body, as if paralyzing him from the inside out. Unable to go to dinner, he imagined what Dippet would announce when proclaiming Riddle's sudden leaving. He could not even picture being able to bear seeing the look on Bellatrix's face. His eyes would wander to an empty place at Gryffindor table where Lily would have sat had she not been in the hospital wing, waiting for news on whether her boyfriend was alive or dead. Severus could not even consider a shred of tolerance in sitting through a meal with Friday and Lucius, whether they were dating or not. His internal misery was something he couldn't conquer, and all that night it took up a place inside of him, swelling up, eating at him, creating a giant hole of emptiness in his heart. He heard Lucius come in later and pretended to be asleep to avoid questions or comments or concerns, for that matter. His thoughts ran wild through the night, and it was not until many hours later that his eyes drifted closed.

Severus Snape was unaware of this as his consciousness left him alone in a Slytheirn dorm room, but he had just unleashed a monster upon the Wizarding world, one far darker than any they had ever, and would ever, come to know.


	14. Chapter 14: Memory

_She burst through the Great Hall, fury shaking her to the core, no more tears left to stream down her face. She spotted James at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by his friends, laughing and talking jovially. A sickening hatred filled her empty body, freezing her in place, staring at him. It was almost like hunger for food, yet this was darker, hollower; an absolute desperation to satiate a craving to hurt him. Her were eyes on fire, she gripped her wand so strongly that it was near breaking. A small spurt of fire flew from it and blackened the stone ground. A few people had noticed her standing there, eyes locked on James. Then, one of his friends nudged him, and he turned his attention to her. _

_In that instant, James saw something more frightening than he had ever laid eyes upon before. He felt his insides ache with fear at the sight of her. He was boastful and brawny, but the way she stared at him, as if he had destroyed all she ever loved, it made even his bold, courageous demeanor vanish into thin air. And it was a look that he knew she would give him the chance to experience someday._

_The rage of Bellatrix Black could not be controlled. _

_A thick, electrifying jet of red light emerged from her wand, targeted at James's heart. He screamed and fell to the ground, writhing in agony. Suddenly realizing what she was doing, others turned their wands on her, but with a flick of her eyes, they stood disarmed and defenseless. Walking towards James, all of her anger transmitting into one beam of red light, a happiness unlike any other overtook her. It was different from what she had felt with Riddle—this was a sickening joy, something she knew was unforgiving yet craved anyway. She let the hall resonate with the sounds of his pained wails. People were screaming her name, begging her to stop, but torturing James was too pleasurable, and the greatest smile of satisfaction spread over her lips._

_There was this strange release in this spell. Bellatrix closed her eyes, the red light never ceasing to fly from her wand, and imagined being in Riddle's bedroom. She could feel his fingers on her arms, cold and long, tracing over her pale, smooth skin. She gasped in sensuous pleasure, bit down on her lip to prevent from whispering his name as his familiar, soft lips pressed against her neck. _

_She opened her eyes again, no longer in the Great Hall. Silence surrounded her much like the dark room she was in. A bed smothered in black silk was placed across from her and shadows lit the corners of the room. It was dim and cold, just as it had been that night . . ._

_"__Bella," he whispered. Her mind echoed his dark voice, calling her name again and again. She turned around to face him, she was desperate to see him—_

_A different face was there instead. Voice rough and imposing, he commanded her, "Pleasure me, Bella."_

_Her black eyes flashed dangerously at the man in front of her. She darkly moved down his body, kneeling on the cold floor in front of him. She flipped her black curls back, dug her nails into his sides, and closed her eyes, bracing herself for what she was about to do. _

_The figure in front of her, muscular, tan, and dark haired, stared down at the pale, thin girl below him. His age and aggression were by no means subtle. He wore an impatient expression, one showing that he clearly did not have the slightest care in the world for the woman that was his daughter. He saw the displeasure and regret written across her face but he didn't care. She was nothing more than an object to him, something to make his life more enjoyable. _

_A moan escaped his lips as her damp tongue broke contact with his tender skin. Bellatrix's nails dug deeper into his body as her mouth moved maliciously, almost biting in at times. She heard him groaning in pleasure and slurring words, calling her insulting and demeaning names. Inside she was screaming with horror, yet somehow managed to obey this man's requests. His hands gripped her smooth, glossy curls, her black hair anchoring his ecstasy. She winced at his violent grip, almost tugging out her long locks. _

_Finally, tears started streaming down her face. He pulled her off of the ground and up to him, his strong arms roughly lifting her up and dropping her onto the silk-covered bed in the corner. Taking no time to wait, he had climbed on top of her and swiftly entered her. Although she was used to his movements by now, it did not hide the fact that he was painful and rough. Aggressively he moved faster and faster, and she couldn't hold back a sob as it choked her throat—_

Bellatrix opened her eyes again and sat up suddenly, her heart pounding, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She looked around and saw the familiar sight of her dorm room at Hogwarts, Friday asleep in the bed opposite her. Her nightmare had not by any means glorified what she had been through with her father before; on the contrary, it depicted one of the many horrid nights rather well. Shuddering at the memory, she got out of her bed, threw a light, black-silk robe over her otherwise exposed body, and disappeared from the room.

The stone walls stretched darkly through the Slytherin common room. It was a freezing night, only slight traces of the moon illuminating the couches, table and chairs. The always-put-out fireplace stood menacingly opposite the cold, black-leather sofas and a crystal mirror hung above the mantel. Artfully carved, black sculptures lined the walls and portraits depicting many infamous Slytherin witches and wizards hung with absolute intimidation.

Silently, she sat down on one of the couches opposite the dead fireplace, pretending she was a ghost, a figment of a horrid imagination. Bellatrix pulled out her wand from the inside of her robe pocket and let the top hover over her forearm. Her black eyes flashed closed as she reminisced in the memory of her one night with Tom, the soft, cold touch of his fingers, the silk fabric on his bed . . .

Bellatrix ran the wand lightly over the pale, flawless arm and a deep slice through her skin appeared, leaving a streak of red blood to blotch and begin to flow. Bellatrix watched with fascination as ruby droplets swam down her arm, dripped off of her fingertips, creating a pool of blood at her feet. Then she traced the wand lightly over another part of her skin, letting the river of blood multiply and flow faster, dripping onto the black couch and then tarnishing the shiny wood floor.

In her mind, Bellatrix conjured up memories of being in Riddle's classroom, staring at the pale, tall teacher, who watched her with fascination. Every curve of her body, curl of her hair, part of her lips, sway of her hips. Bellatrix tried to picture his cold, pale fingers running down her arms and moved her wand to stab her skin where he had once gripped her before.

Tears mingled with blood and dripped into the crevices of the couch and floorboards. Bellatrix opened her eyes and looked at the mirror hanging above the fireplace across the wall from her. She stared at the girl, so miserable and broken. Then she averted her eyes, almost afraid to watch the reflection of what she found pleasant release in doing. It was as if the mirror was a different perspective, one that showed her the obvious flaws in her actions. But for once, she did not want anyone to tell her whether she was right or wrong. With her other clean, pale hand, Bellatrix's long nails played in the blood on her arm. She observed its fluidness, how it trickled down her skin like water. She brought a drop to her lips, tasting the rusty jewels contained in her skin. Her eyes flashed closed again, recounting another memory.

_"__You are so tense, Bella," he said quietly, walking closer to her from behind her as she continued to torture a muggle woman Riddle had swiped off of the streets of London. The two of them stood in the Forbidden Forest, Riddle studying Bellatrix's motions from a distance as she forced contorted screams of pain to come out of the mangled woman, who lay weakened on the forest floor. With each step Riddle took towards her, Bellatrix's insides squeezed tighter and tighter together. _

_She felt a presence hovering behind her, then a force lingering along her shoulders, then his hands pushing and forcing her bones to ease their tension, massaging her skin. His fingers moved past her shoulder blades, coming together around her neck, almost sending the fleeting thought through her mind that he was going to choke her to death, but probing her enough to make her body less stiff. _

_She closed her eyes, as if trying to feel the woman's pain. She tried to imagine what torture would feel like, so gloriously under the total control of another. Even though both she and Riddle knew it would help her grasp the spell more for her to practice playing the victim, they never spoke of it, as if knowing that it would almost make what they were doing _truly_ not school-appropriate._

_"__Relax," he whispered in her ear, his fingertips lightly grazing her bare back. Bellatrix tried to restrain the shudder of pleasurable ecstasy that coursed through her flesh. The jet of light emitting from her wand changed to a darker, blood-red shade, and the screams of the muggle woman only grew louder. She bit her tongue, suppressing a moan as the skin of his lips brushed against her neck. _

_"__Feel it," he murmured, his mouth still on her skin, sensing that her tenseness had not yet vanished. In an effort to please him, Bellatrix tried desperately hard to let the fear, pain, and anger go. She forced herself, dying to push out anything that distracted her from Riddle and the magic. _

_His body roughly pushed up against hers, her thin frame fitting perfectly into his strong body, his hands gripping her waist as he dug his teeth into her skin, bringing up ruby droplets of her blood. His hands aggressively moved around her upper thigh, scrambling for an opening in the fabric of her dress where he could feel her pale, smooth skin. After what seemed to be eternity he found what he was looking for, and in a swift motion, he plunged his fingers inside of her. Unable to hold back her immense rapture, Bellatrix gasped, truly letting all of the tension inside of her fly away as she molded into his body, their figures connected in a display of dark magic and passion. Suddenly, Bellatrix's spell, which had turned so red it was nearly black, exploded with a fiery wave of green magic and the screams of the muggle woman echoed through the forest as her lifeless corpse came to a deafening stillness that left the air holding an emptiness. _

_Riddle's hand released her and suddenly spun her around to face him, staring intently, with a subtle seriousness, into her eyes._

_"__Did you kill her nonverbally?" he said quietly, his words lightly pounding on her perfect flesh like the chill of his breath._

_Bellatrix did not move, nor did she speak. Simply the way her black eyes swam with loving desire told him everything he needed to know. _

_"__I may have ran out of things to teach," he said, his eyes trained on his fingers, which were lingering along the waistline of her gown. Her eyes flickered down to stare at them as well, watching as his movements seemed to almost desperately restrain himself from diving into her with no further words spoken. _

_"__I am sure, Professor, that you will never . . ." she paused, her hand reaching down to lightly hover over his. _

_"__Ever . . ." she breathed, guiding it along the fabric of her black, silk gown to where the slit exposing her thigh was._

_"__Run out of things to teach me," she finished, letting his fingers rest there as she removed her hand from his, her eyes now staring at his, which were still fixed on his hand._

_"__I suppose you may be right," he said lightly. Then, pressing his lips against hers, tasting warmth and soft flesh, he hugged her against him, his hand roaming underneath of her dress while another supported her back. Glossy black curls tangled in their kiss. Her hands rested on his chest, nails sinking into the dark fabric of his robes, her mind wild with erotic pleasure. When his lips left hers and traveled down the flesh of her neck, she threw her head back, her breaths rugged and speeding. _

_Just as she was certain he would force her onto the ground, completing another array of sensuous acts, he moved his hands up the sides of her hips, gently letting his lips work against hers again, his movements relaxed and controlled. She forced herself to do the same, though slightly disappointed by his change of behavior. Letting him pull away from her, Bellatrix, ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face, only to have it spring back. Riddle looked at her knowingly as he pointed his wand at the dead woman, disposing of her corpse. _

_"__Learn to clean up after yourself," he said as the body disappeared. Bellatrix nodded obediently, her apologetic eyes on the forest floor, remembering that he was her superior and she should never assume her stature. She heard him walk over to her, the leaves crunching under his feet. Lifting her chin to stare into her eyes, Riddle studied her indifferent expression._

_"__That isn't worth being sorry for," he stated sternly, after what seemed to be a coming to a consensus of what her feelings must have been, hidden behind her seemingly careless front. _

_She looked away from him, not unopposed to the idea of his reading her thoughts. He could clearly see how much he was truly weakening her. Scoffing at her slightly, Riddle removed his grip on her and walked away, disapparating from the forest as he left. Bellatrix stood, frozen in the paralyzing crack that echoed through the trees. _

Still sitting in the Slytherin common room, blood dripping down her arm_, _Bellatrix stared across the room at the reflection of herself. As she studied the girl bleeding from the inside out, she wondered what would have happened if she had never accepted Riddle's first proposal of private lessons, if she had never looked at him like the way she did now, if she had never learned the Unforgivable curses or gotten him fired, or missed him as terribly as she did now. Was it better to have loved and lost, or never to have loved at all?


	15. Chapter 15: Time To Say Goodbye

"May I remind you, Miss Addams, that it was I you lost your purity to?"

"If we're bringing up tragically failed love affairs, I suppose I shall ask about your lovely Narcissa? The ridiculous, blonde, want-to-be Bellatrix? I guess you're equally matched in your desperateness."

"That's still not as pathetic as when you tried to go after Rosier, even when he told you he was obsessed with Bellatrix—"

"Do not blame Evan on me! I was completely defenseless and I tried to stop him—"

"Yet somehow his tongue ended up down your throat in an empty corridor and it took Filch's cat to break you two up."

Bellatrix, Friday, Severus, and Lucius sat in the empty, dimly lit Slytherin common room, crowded around the dead fireplace late at night. Their last exams had been finished that afternoon, and in celebration, Lucius had smuggled in several bottles of various brandies and wines from Hogsmeade for the four Slytherins to share.

O. W. L.'s and N. E. W. T.'s had come and gone, and the last day of school was fast approaching. Most of the graduating class had already planned out where they were to go over the course of the next few months: James certainly wasn't shy in announcing that he planned on becoming an auror and was scheduled to take the test over the summer, Friday had been shrieking with excitement for weeks when she was recruited for the English Quidditch World Cup team as a chaser, and Lucius was still boasting about becoming an official Ministry of Magic staff member.

Yet the small portion of students whose futures were undecided were not cast out by any means, seeing as one such was the unstoppable Bellatrix Black. She had not fully recovered from Riddle's leaving; for one, her dark yet pleasant demeanor had transformed into something much harder. She barely ever smiled, and her moderate indifference towards most things was replaced with sneering disgust. Strange waves of powerful emotion would sweep through her daily. One instant, perfect calm would transfix her. Then something would remind her of Riddle and emptiness would rise up in her chest. Next, she would remember that it was James who had blabbed about her romance (at least, that was who everyone thought it was—shortly after Dippet had been informed, James had been hit with a dark magical spell, one unknown to all of the teachers. The only assumption to be made was that Riddle had known that James betrayed the information to the Headmaster and cursed him out of anger) and fury would take its place inside of her. Eventually, she would return to her deranged calm. While her beauty never faltered, and on the outside she seemed to remain the same, Bellatrix did not resemble the girl she was in the beginning of the year. Though this was not as apparent to by-standing onlookers, Severus, Friday and Lucius were perfectly aware.

"Oh, Bellatrix, your list could go on for days and days," Friday laughed draining her third glass of alcohol. "There was Rosier, but also Avery, and Mulciber, and Wilkes, and—"

"Before you continue," Bellatrix interrupted, "I get a chance to explain those. Rosier _was_ an accident, despite what you think."

"But explain the Avery thing to me again," Friday smiled, refilling her glass.

Bellatrix growled and started, "That was a drunken night in Hogsmeade, which ended up with Madame Rosmerta kicking us out of the Three Broomsticks for our 'wild, childish behavior'," she laughed, sipping from her glass.

A sly smile slipped onto Lucius's face as he pressed, "And the hospitol wing? With Mulciber?"

"What an idiot," Bellatrix muttered, "He honestly thought that he could impress me by getting in a fight with a Gryffindor? I didn't know if he was alive after the way those kids had jinxed him, and I only visited him because I was sorry for him!" Bellatrix exclaimed, directing her exasperation at Friday, whose snickering had grown to a howling laughter.

"Bellatrix Black feeling _sorry_? What a surprise," Lucius said, winking at her. "But what's your excuse for Lestrange?"

"Which one?" Bellatrix smiled, her eyebrow raised in amusement.

Friday laughed and shouted, "Start with Rodolphus."

"Was that two years ago? Must have been, because we were both prefects then, and he was the seeker in a Quidditch match we had won against Gryffindor. Anyway, Rodolphus was in the prefect's bathroom and so was I, for reasons I don't remember . . ." she trailed off, remembering how he had been, naked and incredibly attractive, tan skinned and muscular, his dark hair short and damp from the water. "We must have been alone for hours together, I mean it was a _long_ time," she mused, smiling to herself.

Friday and Lucius were chuckling at the tale while Severus curled up awkwardly in his chair. "Whatever happened to him?" Lucius said after a long time.

"He graduated," Friday answered. "Although, I wouldn't be surprised if he was on that list of suitors, Bellatrix. The Lestranges are quite the noble family," she said, innuendoing a fantastic, knowing nod, which Bellatrix deflected with a role of her eyes.

"I didn't know you and Rabastan happened . . . is it worth telling?" Lucius asked, amused.

Bellatrix thought for a moment, recalling in her fourth year when she and Rabastan were supposed to be studying for a Divination exam, but after several minutes of trying to read each other's minds, they ended up spending most of the period not in chairs but on the floor. Laughing slightly, she shook her head 'no' in response to Lucius.

"Rabastan's still a year below us," Severus remarked, the first comment he had made during the entire conversation.

"You ought to find out what happened to Rodolphus," Lucius said to Bellatrix, "He wouldn't make a bad husband."

"But can you see us married?" Bellatrix shook her head. "It wouldn't be . . . _fun_."

"Hasn't your mother taken all of the _fun_ out of marriage anyway?" Friday reminded. "She's already chosen your husband, which we don't even get to know about until you go home and she tells you—"

"Can we please talk about something else?" Bellatrix said, tiredly raking her fingers through her black curls, "I cannot think about imagining what I'm coming home to this year."

She shifted moods as she directed her attention to Severus, playfully saying, "Alright, let's hear about you. What ever happened with that pretty little thing you'd been with last year?"

"Emily?" Severus said, peaking at Bellatrix from behind his curtain of black hair. "She was transferred to Beauxbatons because her family moved, or something," he said, his brows furrowed in an uncertain expression.

"Ah," Friday drunkenly acknowledged. "You loose the thing you love."

"Quite," Bellatrix agreed, her thoughts straying to Riddle. There was an awkward moment of silence in which each of them raked through their desperate romantic failures; Friday and Lucius were currently in a broken-up phase, Severus and Bellatrix had never resolved their awkward encounter, and Bellatrix was still going through withdrawal from Riddle's absence. Sometimes, Bellatrix imagined what she would have said to him if she had been given a chance to say goodbye. Would she have just cried and run away? Or would she have said something eloquent and smart, like she always did? Or would she have let him touch her, one last time, truly taking in the feeling that emitted through her soul when his fingers swept over her body, to document it and remember it when he was gone? A chance to say goodbye to him—Bellatrix had to remind herself that even she was not worthy of that.

"Anyway," Lucius started, clearing the dampened mood, "I think we ought to toast to our completing seven years of Hogwarts, with much better futures ahead and flawless transcripts to bring to them."

"Flawless?" Friday scoffed at him. "Lest we forget the imperfections that are laden on some of _your_ grade marks."

"Don't act as if you aren't guilty yourself," Lucius muttered, "I saw that E on your Transfiguration test. And honestly, who hasn't achieved a wrong every now and then?"

"Bellatrix," Severus, Friday, and Lucius said, synchronously. The young witch rolled her eyes at her friends as they proceeded to drink to their years.

In and amidst all of the chaos that surrounded the end of the year, Bellatrix had somehow managed to achieve perfect marks again on all of her exams and in each class. Riddle had been replaced by a man named Albus Dumbledore, known for his defeating the dark wizard Grindlewald. Bellatrix could not stand to be in that class, to pretend to pay attention to some silly old man who had the audacity to attempt playing the part Riddle had once commanded. She never spoke in classes anymore, and paying attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts became a struggle again, for all she could think about were the moments with Riddle, now lost from her present but still plaguing her mind. Not a day went by when she did not think of him, and each time she did it stung her heart.

Despite her weakness, Bellatrix refused to let herself be commanded by men. She maintained her glorious reputation amongst all her teachers, remaining beautiful and smart as ever, seemingly gliding from class to class, while inside she attempted to fill the aching, hollow feeling she had carried since Riddle had left. Still, the feelings inside of her could be suppressed even as she imagined herself graduating, receiving a sheet of ceremonious parchment, and sitting in the boats with Friday, Lucius and Severus as they sailed across the lake, like when they had in their first years, although this time leaving the school for good. Not wanting to think of school as being completely over yet, however, Bellatrix doused her mind in more alcohol, gesturing for Lucius to replenish her glass.

"Are you sure?" he said, hesitantly pouring the golden liquid in her goblet. "This is your fifth round—"

"I've handled more before," she said curtly, bringing the full glass back to her lips.

"If you say so," he mumbled, draping his arms across the leather sofa he had claimed for himself that evening.

"Well," Friday said suddenly, getting up from the chair she was sitting in and walking away from the group of students, "I'm not going to watch Bellatrix drink herself into oblivion any longer."

"Goodbye," Lucius called sarcastically to his ex-girlfriend. Friday made a rude gesture at him before disappearing into the hallway of dormitories.

"When are you two getting back together again?" Bellatrix asked lazily after they had heard Friday's door slam shut.

"I'm not sure," Lucius said, his mind wandering. "She's not easily persuaded—"

"She shouldn't be," Bellatrix cut in rudely. "My sister is out-of-bounds for you, and you didn't even have the manners to dump Friday first."

"Going after a teacher is just as bad," Lucius reminded her irritatedly, "But I suppose we all must break the rules sometimes."

Bellatrix felt fury boiling up inside her, but she chose to drain her glass instead of acting on her anger and letting a long list of words about Lucius stream from her lips.

After another moment of silence, Lucius casually asked Severus, "Where are you going to go after we graduate?"

"Anywhere but home," he said quietly. "I'll Probably get a job until I figure it out."

"You're always welcome—"

"I don't need your company," Severus said firmly, with a certain brevity that could only be taken as defensiveness.

Desperate to change the subject again, Severus asked Bellatrix in a serious tone, "When is the wedding?"

"You think I know?" Bellatrix said, coming out of a daze of painful memories about Riddle she had defaulted to thinking of as Severus and Lucius discussed their trivial affairs. "I don't even know who I'm marrying."

"I thought arranged marriages were a thing of the past," Severus commented quietly.

"God no," Lucius said, "And just so we're clear, Bellatrix isn't the only one. I'm to be married in the next couple of years or a wife will be found for me by my parents."

"At least you have some say," Bellatrix said gloomily. "I have absolutely no idea who I'll be changing my name for."

Sympathetically, Lucius started, "Bellatrix, he can't be that bad—"

"No!" she yelled, sitting up straight, smashing her glass on the dark wood floors, suddenly furious. She began ranting, invisible tears gliding down her cheeks, "You and Severus have all the freedom in the world to do whatever you want after we graduate, but when I'm gone my life will just get worse! I'll be forced to spend eternity with some rich bastard like you, Lucius, and then they'll make me have children, and I'll have to produce and look after an abundance of ignorant offspring that I'll probably just end up murdering anyway!"

The room echoed her screams for a moment before returning to despairing silence. Lucius was at a loss for words, as was Bellatrix. She was frozen, her hands buried in her hair, fixed in a terrified state that she feared would hold her until she died.

"Time will work itself out," Severus said quietly, breaking the wall of oddly-colored quietness in the common room. "I don't think you'll be as miserable as you predict."

"But what if I am?" she sighed, her eyes flickering up to meet another pair of black ones. Her red lips begged the question she had turned over in her mind for nights upon end. "What then, Severus?"

Lucius watched as his friends challenged each other, as they did in a duel, only this time, Bellatrix had surrendered and was almost begging Severus to give her mercy on something he couldn't possibly help. She really was loosing her mind; Riddle had damaged her far beyond any other man in her life, and the arranged marriage Bellatrix's mother was putting her up to seemed to be slowly unraveling her. Lucius's glance wavered then to Severus, who nevertheless remained perfectly still in his aura and figure as he responded to the unhinged witch in words familiar to her ears,

"Then you are not the witch I thought you were."


	16. Chapter 16: A Perfect Stranger

"What do you think of it?"

She blinked several times. "Pardon?" she asked, coming out of her dazed train of thought.

"Your wedding dress?"

Standing before a mirror in her mother's bedroom within the walls of the Black family manor, Bellatrix was staring at herself, black eyes tired and bored looking. It was July, one month after Bellatrix had come home from Hogwarts, and despite the searing heat outside, the manor remained cold and dark as ever. The gray-and-red striped wallpaper, faded and peeling away, surrounded Bellatrix, her mother and younger sister (in addition to a woman who was to make adjustments to the wedding gown, standing silently in the corner of the room) as they stared at the reflection of the young witch, dressed in an extravagant, beautiful gown. Its strapless design showed off her pale, skeletal shoulders and arms, contrasting her black curls and eyes with its white color. The snowy, silk fabric, which was ruffled, layer upon layer, cascaded down her tightly silhouetted torso and fluttered to the ground elegantly from her hips, creating a beautiful princess-like shape. It trained in the back slightly, creating just enough of a challenge for Bellatrix to walk in but not enough that she couldn't wear the black heels she insisted upon having. Her body was truly breathtaking in the outfit, but her face, while just as physically flawless, wore a somber expression.

"Mother, I . . ."

"You look incredible!" squealed Narcissa from the corner of the room, bouncing up and down on her chair, her blonde hair streaming down her face. Druella was not nearly as thrilled as her youngest daughter. Dark hair pinned up in a bun perfectly topped the pale woman's harsh face, her skeletal body eaten up by a simple, black gown. Her nose, obtrusive and crooked, hung down from her face like a crows', and her black eyes pierced the body of her eldest daughter as if they were daggers.

"Well?" her mother barked, expectantly staring at Bellatrix.

"It's . . . white," she managed, turning away from the mirror, breaking the stare at herself.

"Black is not an option," her mother said stiffly. Bellatrix closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, forcing down any retorts she wished to say. Druella walked around her daughter, skeptically eying her from every angle as the silent seamstress scurried up to the platform Bellatrix was standing on and began pinning the dress in places where it needed to be adjusted. Bellatrix put her hands on her hips, her thin, pale arms giving away her frustration as she tiredly waiting for her mother to stop.

"Well, don't act too excited," her mother sarcastically remarked.

"How can I be when you're forcing me off to a man twice my age who I don't know?" Bellatrix muttered.

Her mother pulled out her wand and sent a sharp shot of pain through Bellatrix with the use of a simple hex. "Don't you dare use that tone of voice with me, girl!" Druella screamed. "You ought to be grateful for what your father and I have done for you! A fine man with a pure family and powerful name. He will suite you well."

"I don't want to get married," Bellatrix moaned, lifting up the skirts of the massive dress and climbing down the steps of the platform which she had been modeling on.

"No one _wants_ to get married," Druella said simply, "It's something you do and learn to accept."

"Was father twenty five years older than you when _you_ had to accept it?" Bellatrix grudged, lifting up her arms for the silent woman to sew up the dress.

"Thirty," Druella countered, walking towards the door of the room, "Now hold your tongue, you ungrateful little bitch, while I speak with Mrs. Yaxley."

As Druella left, Narcissa excitedly lunged across the room and bounded out the door after her mother, giddy with girlish glee. Belllatrix was left with the seamstress, who had her wand out and pointed at Bellatrix's waist and torso, where the dress needed to be taken in the most.

"Just think," Bellatrix murmured gloomily to herself, "Soon enough they'll be calling _me_ 'Mrs. Yaxley'."

"It'll be alright, dearie," the old woman said as she continued mending the dress. "Your name doesn't define who you can be."

"That wasn't an invitation for you to speak," Bellatrix replied curtly as the old woman cowered and remained silent, continuing to work around the young girls' body. After finishing, she scurried over to the corner of the room again, biting at her nails viciously.

"Bellatrix!" Narcissa said, bounding into the room. "Mother and Mrs. Yaxley wish to see you in the dress. And heels. Go quickly!" She squealed, grabbing her sisters' hand and pulling it towards the door. Bellatrix wrenched her hand from her sister's grip and sat down in a chair for a moment, pulling on the five inch shoes which she somehow managed to walk in without breaking any bones, and slapped a pleasant expression onto her face before leaving her mother's bedroom.

Her heels clicking along the floor of the hallway, Bellatrix followed Narcissa down a flight of steps and into the parlor, where her parents and the Yaxley's were having tea. She observed them carefully, taking in the plump, boisterous presence of Mrs. Yaxley, who countered her lean, rigid mother almost humorously. Then Master Yaxley, who was tall and thin, also in a deep conversation with her father about something that probably had to do with money. Bellatrix was still furious that she had yet to meet the man she was going to marry—their son, whose name she honestly did not remember, was supposedly in Transylvania on a business trip, but his family knew quite well that he was, in fact, in London, and was trying to escape the prospect of marriage himself. This infuriated her—it was as if he was allowed to run away from their engagement and she was not. She suppressed her agitated thoughts, however, as the rest of the room turned to look at her, pleasure and respect lighting their eyes.

"My, my," Mrs. Yaxley began in a high-pitched, upbeat voice, "You look marvelous!"

"Doesn't she?" Druella's singsongy voice drew out from her corner of the room. She was leaning against the wooden mantle of the fireplace, sipping a black liquid from a wine glass as she looked her daughter over, communicating through her fierce glance that Bellatrix was to be polite and smile or there would be consequences.

The corners of Bellatrix's lips lifted only in the slightest as she bowed her head, graciously responding, "Your kind remarks are accepted with the most humble gratitude."

"So well-versed," Mrs. Yaxley said, coming over to Bellatrix, the drink in her hand being set down on a table. She clasped Bellatrix's pale, lean fingers with her pudgy, tan ones, exclaiming, "I just knew we picked the perfect girl!"

Bellatrix managed a grimacing smile as she slid one of her hands from the tight grip of Mrs. Yaxley. She noticed Master Yaxley and her father give their nods of approval from the corner of the room before diving back into their conversation.

"May I go now?" Bellatrix said, turning to her mother.

Making a harsh face, Druella's eyes widened as she tried to tell her daughter 'no'. Bellatrix threw her mother a quick, disgusted face before turning away from the crowd of people, gracefully flowing up the main steps of the manor and proceeding to storm into the dressing room, where she ripped the gown off as fast as she could. Throwing it on the chair in the corner, she grabbed her wand on a table along the wall and waved it over her body, making a far less extravagant black dress appear, complemented by heeled boots and a black cloak. Then, in a flash of a moment, she apparated out of the manor, a _crack_ echoing through the room she had left. She suddenly appeared in Diagon Alley, where her cloaked figure was unrecognizable by anyone. She walked quickly, weaving in and out of people and heading down Knockturn Alley. Throwing dark glances at beggars who lined the sides of the filthy, small street, she continued to walk until she reached an inn at the corner of the street. Bursting into the almost empty pub, which occupied the first floor of the tavern, she frantically went over to the bar, sat down, and ordered a glass of red currant rum.

The liquid was down her throat faster than she could think, and immediately it was being topped off for a second by the silent bartender. Glass after empty glass piled up in front of her. Her mind became a blur. Bellatrix's dark nail lightly traced the damp, circular shape of where her sixth wine glass had just been. She tried to fix her mind on something—of the friends she hadn't seen since school had ended, of the marriage she couldn't escape, even of Riddle—but each thought was left unfinished and hanging in a pool of wine. She clutched her aching head with long fingers, her thin shoulders tightly hunched together as her sharp elbows leaned on the wooden counter of the bar, causing a wall of black curls to fall around her, keeping her pale, angular face hidden. Her red lips were slightly damp with alcohol, and her black eyes stared indefinitely at bottles multi-colored liquid lining the walls, her mind debating whether or not to indulge herself in another round.

"You look like you need a drink," a smooth voice said from beside her.

"Such interpretive skill you possess," she muttered tiredly, not turning to look at the person who was speaking to her.

"Definitely need a drink," the voice said, a smile in his tone.

Bellatrix laughed, still not turning to face the person. "In my current state of mind, that's probably not the best idea."

"All the more reason," he replied simply.

Suppressing a smile that urged to spread across her lips, Bellatrix pushed back a sheet of black curls and looked at the man who had taken an interest in her. She was instantly surprised by how incredibly handsome he was. Tall, tan and dark haired, his smooth smile almost comforting, his dark eyes warm and sincere, he looked to be in his thirties. He wore only black clothing, strikingly matching her in this way. Obviously physically fit, his muscles cloaked the dark fabric of his shirt, sitting down on the stool across from her he appeared tall. An attractive head of black hair only emphasized his oddly suave mustache and beard, which he must have made an effort to appear clean yet unimposing. His face was impressive; soft, dark brown eyes, generous lips, and thick eyebrows, which accompanied his well-shaven chin and full crop of hair well. Bellatrix strangely felt herself drawn to his seductive aura, yet she did not feel she had to compete with it—she matched it perfectly, maybe even more.

He pulled a bottle of firewhisky, which had been left unguarded by the barmen, from behind the counter. Waving his hand, the cork disappeared and two glasses were conjured up. Pouring generously, he pushed a goblet over to her. She accepted willingly but did not drink it yet, wanting to hear more from the man first.

"Why does a man such as yourself find reason to be here tonight?" she asked, not pausing in her intense examination of his physique.

"Because a man, such as myself, hopes to meet a woman like you," he said, smirking slightly, bringing the glass to his lips.

"What makes me such a woman?" she posed, drinking from the glass.

"There are a number of traits," he said, raising his eyebrows as if thinking. "Where shall I begin?"

"Anywhere you like," she replied, draining the rest of the glass.

He licked his lips as he continued to study her. "For one, you drink whisky faster than I do," at this she smiled lightly. "And then you looked terribly lonely."

"Being by one's self does not make them alone," she said placidly, sliding her empty glass back over to him.

"That may be," he acknowledged, pouring her more whisky. "Yet how else does one come to the consensus that a woman is alone?"

"They can ask," she replied simply as he skated the refilled glass back to her. She flickered her eyes to the stool next to her, and he understood her nonverbal invitation as he smoothly slid into the chair.

"What question do I ask first?" he said, staring into her black eyes intently.

She could smell the alcohol on his breath. He was very close, yet somehow kept his distance. She was surprised at how familiar he seemed. Was she so drunk that she didn't recognize him—could she be terribly embarrassing herself right now? Her mind fought for many different thoughts at once; it was strange how incredibly individual he seemed, as if the combination of his physical traits were perfect yet rarely produced in wizards anymore. He gave off a dark aura, and that was exactly what drew Bellatrix to him the most.

"Are you of pure blood?" she asked casually.

"Yes," he said, his nonchalance never leaving. "I would have killed myself out of shame if I wasn't. I'm correct in assuming you are as well."

"Aren't you smart," she said, sarcasm creeping into her voice.

"Are you alone?" he asked, finishing off his glass.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't have to be," she decided to say after musing over the best reply.

"Of course not," he said, taking in her subtle confirmation of what he hoped was true. "And what do you want to know of me?"

Bellatrix drained her glass again and placed it down on the counter. In a sudden and instinctive motion, she pressed her lips against his. She was quite shocked at how strong he felt to her; he managed her trained, beautiful mouth quite expertly against his own. His hands rested along her torso, lightly holding her in place as she wildly leaned in deeper, hungrily tasting this foreign man more as her long, pale fingers held his neck, her dark nails scratching gently at his dark hair.

She paused suddenly, her black eyes brightly locked with his. Her silent breathing was weighed down with alcohol. She lightly responded, "Everything."

He flashed his handsome smile at her and his eyes flickered towards the stairs. She raised an eyebrow and nodded, letting him take her hand, slide off of the stool, pull her with him, and guide her up to the second floor. He pushed into an empty room and then sealing it with a flick of his wand, then turned to fully look at the beautiful woman he had just, in a sense, abducted. She was truly breathtaking in full view, her thin, pale body covered in silhouetting, black fabric. Her curls were snakelike, wild, but perfect in their uncontrolledness, much like the impression he received from her kiss.

With an overwhelming sense of masculine desire, the dark-haired man abruptly forced Bellatrix against the wall, his hands smoothing over her body, burying his lips in the black curls covering her neck. She closed her eyes as his hands undid her dress, letting the silk gown fall to the floor as he reached up and grabbed her breasts, roughly touching them with his fingers. The sensation was one Bellatrix had missed, one she starved herself of for what felt like eternity, and one that she rather enjoyed.

He kept her trapped against the wall as his lips against hers, his hands continuing to feel her body. Her eyes flashed closed and her nails dug into his hair, appreciating his strength and obvious gain in height over her—it almost reminded her of Riddle. Pushing the pained thoughts that always came to mind when his name slipped into her head, she moved her fingers down to his robes, undoing them as well, letting them slide off of his tan, muscular body. She glided her dark nails over his toned physique, her lips never once leaving his. Then he lifted her up and carried her to the bed in their room, dropping her onto the mattress. For once, Bellatrix felt herself completely consumed by the moment, by this mysterious man, as he climbed onto the bed on top of her, that never once did a thought of Riddle slip into her mind again.

His lips massaged her breasts and she moaned in erotic pleasure. As his tongue moved further down her body, going inside of her, Bellatrix screamed, the unfamiliarity of his touch rather shocking. He did not want to draw out her cries, however, and in moments his lips were pressed against hers again and he had entered her, an exotic wave of satiation rippling through them both. They found rhythm in their bodies, her hips arching along with his, their lips still intensely connected. She reached her fingers up to his hair and neck, loving the sensation of holding onto him.

Slowing down, the man eventually released her and laid beside Bellatrix. His fingers gently pushing away her black curls from her face, which, as always, smothered her.

"How was that?" he said, examining her closely.

"Long overdue," she said quietly.

He laughed and proceeded to gently kiss her, letting his lips pull at hers. Then, sharply, she broke away from him, getting off of the bed and standing up.

"Unfortunately," she said as she grasped her wand, flicked it over her body, and appeared fully clothed again, "I cannot stay. There are certain people I must attend to."

The man laughed and shook his head slightly, standing and magically becoming clad in his own dark robes as well. He walked to the door and opened it for her, but pulled her arm and spun her around as she tried to leave, his lips closing against hers, his hand resting along her back, pulling her towards him. It was quite dramatic and Bellatrix even smiled to herself at how cliché this stranger was. Finally he released her and she stepped back from him, trying to nail down a memory of this man despite her drunken state. Her eyes spoke a sort of goodbye and then she turned away from his longing glance, walking down the hallway, back down the stairs, out of the bar, onto the street, and into a world where she now felt much less alone.


	17. Chapter 17: Surprises

She opened her eyes and noticed first that she was in a bed she hadn't remembered falling asleep in. Her eyes were cloaked in a thick mass of black curls, her pale face glowing visibly beneath them.

"Bellatrix, if you don't get up now, I swear by Salazar, I will cut your tongue out—"

She was debating whether or not to finally be awake yet, formally let her consciousness come back into reality, and realizing what had happened last night. Her head began to spin, and quickly she shut her black eyes again, not ready to accept it.

"Don't make come in there—"

A horrible hangover made her feel like cutting open her head to extract what was making her so nauseous, and her mother's screaming and knocking from outside her door was no help.

"Bellatrix!"

"What?" she lazily moaned, trying to sit up. Her vision swayed slightly, and she closed her eyes to regain calm.

"Finally! You had better be downstairs in three minutes," Druella screamed. "And look presentable!"

The room was still dark, although light desperately tried to crawl in behind the curtains. Bellatrix realized she was clothed in the gown she had been in yesterday. She reached for her wand on a bedside table, waved it tiredly over her body and in an instant, a new black dress appeared on her. The gown was very simple, coming in at her waist and stomach tightly, almost like a corset, and flowing gently out from her hips to the floor. The sleeves that adorned the dress were lucid and flowing, and like always, the dress showed off her gorgeous figure and full breasts. Bellatrix stood up, then realizing her feet were bare, and with another wave of her wand, black knee-high boots with four-inch heels appeared.

She walked past a mirror on the wall opposite her bed and noticed how terrible she looked. Her hair was an unusually misshapen mess, and dark circles lingered underneath of her eyes. With another wave of her wand they quickly evaporated, and her hair regained a more seemly shape. Then she noticed a scratch across her cheekbone. Walking closer to the mirror, she stretched the skin out with her fingers, trying to recall where it had come from. The night had been a blur; there was a pale, black-haired man this time . . . or did he have brown hair . . . or were there two? Another couple months had slipped by, and the October chill couldn't stimulate her enough to remember. Constant fights with her mother and father lead to outings at bars, which lead to many different men, which lead to more fights with her mother and father.

Her head hurt just thinking about the mess that awaited her two flights down, yet she still walked out of her room and descended the stairs to the dining room. A strange blur of sound and light met her unadjusted eyes as she steeped into the room, occupied by three other people. She shook her head, attempting to clear her dizzying thoughts, and made her way to the grand, dark wood table that consumed the entirety of the dining room, walking lazily to her usual seat beside Narcissa, opposite Andromeda and Druella, Cygnus's seat at the head of the table empty. Her eyes barely focused, she realized how thirsty she was and grabbed a glass of water, downing it within seconds. Bellatrix didn't bother looking, for she knew that Druella and Narcissa were staring at her intently. She almost let her head drop into her folded arms on the table before Narcissa caught her and pulled her up by the hair.

"Good morning!" she almost yelled.

Bellatrix growled and tried to run her fingers through her curls, pushing them away from her face. Attempting to keep her eyes open, the blurred shapes of her brown-haired sister and black-haired mother becoming slightly more focused, and she reached for Narcissa's glass of water, drinking it as well.

"How was your evening?" Druella said, deadly calm.

"How so?" Bellatrix slurred.

Her mother raised an eyebrow. "You didn't come back until very late last night," she reprimanded.

"Did I?" Bellatrix took another gulp of water.

Not taking her eyes off of the newspaper spread out in front of her, Andromeda interjected, "I expect you were off, reveling in a cataclysm of love?"

"Something like that," Bellatrix muttered in response. Yawning and forcing herself to sit up straight, she exhaustedly blinked and tried to clear her hazy vision again. Now the room was becoming slightly less dizzying; the dark walls surrounded her almost forcibly, and the curtained windows let no light into the room. The four women sat in near total darkness, save for several oil lamps lining the walls. The occasional rare or expensive object was placed on a shelf, like a shining silver portrait or a costly goblet, but other than that, the room was empty. Bellatrix had left the oak door open, but a house-elf must have scurried by and closed it, for the power of the concealed walls made Bellatrix feel trapped into the conversation.

"I was just telling your sisters that I think you ought to start meeting other pureblood families who will become important to your married life," Druella said, as if trying to maintain order at the unresponsive table.

"Fascinating," Bellatrix replied in a bored tone, picking at a grape in a fruit bowl while under the table, her heels unwound themselves from the ancient carpet seams that trapped many people's shoes and riddled the floor in what used to be a grand rug.

"You know, Bellatrix . . ." Druella began with the tone of what sounded to be a fantastic rant. The three sisters stopped listening at this point, including Bellatrix herself, and she only caught the ending sentence: ". . . I will not have you destroy our family, nor one you haven't even become a part of yet, due to your ignorant, flamboyant behavior!"

"_Flamboyant_?" Bellatrix asked dramatically. "Whatever would you mean by that, mother?"

"You know perfectly well what I would!" Druella said fiercely, "I won't have you drinking yourself into oblivion, not when you're about to get engaged!"

"Come on, mum, why shouldn't she?" Andromeda said simply, her attention not wavering from the _Daily Prophet _spread out in front of her. "Bellatrix deserves some fun before she's nailed down to one man."

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, her eyes focusing on the sister she rarely spoke to anymore. Andromeda had made it clear that she found many of the ways of the Black family disgusting, such as their dark outlook on muggles and half-bloods. She felt Bellatrix's morals to be particularly cruel and unjustifiable, but she wouldn't wish the wrath of their perfectionist mother upon anyone, not even her.

"Are you defending her?" Druella turned on her second-eldest daughter.

"No," said Andromeda, her brown bangs falling into her eyes as she turned another page of the _Daily Prophet_, retorting Druella with frustration. "I just think she's eighteen and she should be allowed to act stupid," she muttered.

"Aren't you just my favorite daughter," Druella sarcastically remarked, stabbing at her porridge.

"I am a Slytherin, aren't I?" Andromeda muttered under her breath.

Bellatrix and Narcissa laughed at this, which only made Druella more livid with frustration. She angrily ordered Andromeda to her room, and proceeded to huff at her other two daughters before stomping off herself.

The two witches sat alone in silence for several minutes. Their quietness was only broken when the more childish, younger girl spoke again.

"Bellatrix . . ." Narcissa trailed off, a strange smile flickering onto her face.

The dark-haired, older witch raised an eyebrow at the small, blonde one. "What is it?"

"Oh nothing, just . . ." Narcissa tried to evade speaking, her blue eyes shining brightly at irritated black ones. Finally, she blurted out, "Have you visited Lucius since he got his new job?"

"Cissy!" Bellatrix yelled at her. "He is way out of your league!"

Narcissa's expression drooped to sadness. "But—"

"He is still in love with Friday," Bellatrix finished shortly, not wanting to have the conversation she was in. Making to stand up and leave the dining room, Bellatrix pushed back her chair and evaded the thread-bare carpet as she managed to make it to the door without tripping once.

Narcissa, huffily trying to persist her sister by stumbling out of her chair, tripped over the carpet and walked after Bellatrix, continuing, "Then why did he kiss me?"

"Because he's a boy," Bellatrix muttered, walking towards the exit of the Black manor. As her long legs continued to stride towards the door, her mind whirled, and she cringed at the thought of Lucius trying something on her sister. Bellatrix saw how Lucius was with women, especially with Friday, and it was not something that pure, little Narcissa could handle.

She was so lost in thought that she hadn't noticed Narcissa stop chasing after her. The words, 'I hate you,' were still echoing in the hallway, and Bellatrix was alone. Even as she realized this, Bellatrix felt no desire to chase after her sister and make amends, yet she didn't want to actually push out of the door that was staring her in the face. There was nothing for her to enjoy in life; aside from the temporary ailments of drinking and sex, she was still furious about her fiancé as well as the marriage itself. Last week she had finally met Mister Yaxley, and was horrified to find him remarkably like a combination of every terrible quality in Lucius. To start, he was blonde, snobbishly educated, and filthy in wealth—dare she complain about anymore to her mother and Druella would have cut out her tongue.

_Lucius_. Bellatrix realized then that it had been four months since she had seen any of her friends. What was really happening between him and Friday? How was his job at the Ministry? She smiled to herself just thinking of Lucius in an official Ministry position, boasting ridiculously at what was probably a small office and an unimportant job. And suddenly, she felt an overwhelming desire to again leave the horrid confinements Black Manor. Summoning her wand and traveling cloak in her mind, Bellatrix waited as they flew down the main staircase and met her at the door, her wand clutched in her hand, the cloak ensconcing her body, almost shielding her identity from the world she had grown to hate.

With a loud _crack_ that echoed through the entrance hallway of the Black manor, Bellatrix disapparated and appeared in green flames, walking out of a fireplace along the side of a bustling, long hall with polished, dark wood floors and a bright blue ceiling. Bellatrix walked towards the great fountain, covered in golden statues, and went towards the set of golden gates and the far end of the hall. Entering one of the lifts branching off from the smaller hall beyond, Bellatrix let her face be bowed and concealed by her black curls and hood, her pale skin glowing lightly beneath, her black eyes avoiding anyone else's in the lift. Moving nearly to the top of the Ministry building, the floors began at seven and worked their way back down to one, Bellatrix getting off at Level Two, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which she knew Lucius had said he would be placed in. Walking down the smooth, black hallways, she glanced at the titles along the doorways, listing varying sections of the Department. _Where would Lucius be working? _she thought as she walked along. _Surely nowhere important . . . _

Bellatrix couldn't have been more incorrect. She glanced down the slick _Wizengamot Administration Services_ corridor branching off from the one she was in and saw a flash of a silver plaque, the name _Lucius Malfoy _engraved upon it. She immediately turned into the hallway and walked down the large space, seeing no one as she went. The silence was near deafening, and it invoked a very professional atmosphere. Shaking off the very Cygnus-like feeling it gave her, Bellatrix stopped at the door dark wood door labeled with Lucius's name. Should she knock? _He doesn't deserve manners, _Bellatrix smiled to herself. Focusing on a charm in her mind, Bellatrix leaned her ear against the door and listened for any conversation. All she could here was the scratching of a quill, leading her to believe that it must only be Lucius in the room. Then she knocked twice, her pale, bony knuckles pained slightly against the sharp wood. She heard a muffled, "Enter," and turned the brass handle.

She entered the room and was immediately met with a mass of light. The large, circular office, surrounded with full bookshelves and windowed walls, looked incredibly old and very official. Papers and books crowded the corners, and an intense feeling ebbed from the dark blue wallpaper, but the great storm of light coming in from the windows directly opposite Bellatrix gave a softer impression of the room. In the very center there was stationed a desk, in which Lucius sat at, his blonde hair pulled back simply as he wrote something intently, his brow furrowed in concentration. Bellatrix couldn't help but smile; he was in his item. He already looked much more mature than he had in Hogwarts, almost like his father . . .

Bellatrix waited for him to look up but when he did not, she addressed herself. "You're not quite as disappointing as I expected," she said finally.

The pale wizard looked up and the first smile in days danced across his face when he glanced at the beautiful witch.

"Bellatrix," he said dryly, "What a surprise."

She raised an eyebrow at his tired-sounding voice. He stood up, dropping his quill, and went over to her from behind his desk. "How are you?" he said, his mature features smoothly greeting her.

She was hesitant to give him her hand. "Obviously not as important as you are," she said, eying the clear stature in his impressive office as his lips pressed against her fingers.

"Oh," said Lucius, smiling shyly as he let Bellatrix's pale hand fall back to her side. "It's nothing, really—"

"_Nothing_?" Bellatrix laughed, her black eyes studying his modest blue ones, "Lucius, the Wizengamot is not nothing. It takes years for anyone to even be considered for the job, much less a fresh Hogwarts graduate."

"Ah," Lucius smiled tiredly, his suave expression fading. "They don't if it's a family affair."

Bellatrix's face darkened as she took in what his words meant. Weakly staring at his bitter expression she finally managed, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Lucius said dismissively, casually turning away from her and walking back towards his desk. "He'd lived far to long for a man of his stature. Simply dragon pox, nothing inhumane."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked sadly, coming over to his desk and sitting in the chair across from it as he took his place back in his seat.

He laughed lightly. "Come now, Bellatrix, what kind of an owl would that be? 'I'm so sorry to inform you, but your presence is dearly desired at the funeral of Abraxas Malfoy.' Not something I wanted to advertise," Lucius said calmly, folding his hands professionally on the papers that cluttered the wooden desk.

Bellatrix was rather taken aback and continued, "You could have said something."

"When?" Lucius asked, almost sarcastically, "As we were passing in the corridors on the way to Divination class? Our lives aren't Hogwarts anymore, Bellatrix. I'm drowning in paperwork here and you must be consumed with your marriage."

"Don't remind me," Bellatrix rolled her eyes, her gaze lingering upon a chandelier hanging on the ceiling.

"I heard it was Yaxley," Lucius continued, factually. "He's respectable."

Bellatrix looked at him with an expression of sarcasm and skepticism. "Respectable?" she said, her tone gross. "He's a rich bastard whose ego is only slightly larger than yours."

Lucius laughed. "I know that's not true," he said, smiling. "He thinks you're very beautiful."

"Does he?" Bellatrix said, scoffing at Lucius. "How do you know?"

"He works here," Lucius responded simply, "I see him occasionally."

Bellatrix pushed a section of curls away from her face. "Really?" she said, irritation playing in her voice, "And I'm the topic of conversation?"

"For him? Yes," he said quietly, his eyes hardening slightly. "You are very much an object to him, Bellatrix. I hope you know that."

Her black eyes darkened at his words, her intertwined fingers clenching painfully together. "No need to remind me, Lucius," she nearly whispered.

He matched her intensity and neither's expression backed away, so he chose to change the subject before wands became involved. "Have you seen Severus?"

"No," she said, her features becoming more relaxed again, softening at the thought of awkward little Severus bumbling around in the world alone. "I was hoping you had."

Lucius shifted in his seat before responding, "It's strange, you know? Life out of school. I'm so involved in what's going on here, but it's as if you graduate from Hogwarts and you drop off the face of the earth."

Bellatrix nodded. Lucius was right; even though they had dreamed of the freedom and ability leaving school would bring, it almost made everyone drift apart even more. If anything, it had distanced them. She studied his serious expression, the way his words sounded as if he was speaking to a business man, not a friend. He had changed so much in four months; had she as well? Were they both so different that they could barely maintain a conversation?

"How is Friday?" Bellatrix asked, her mind resolving on another topic.

Lucius smiled lightly. "What do you think?" he asked, a knowing look in his eyes. "She's more than happy being paid to play Quidditch."

"But clearly you aren't," Bellatrix observed. "Have you been visiting her?"

Lucius nodded, his eyes falling to stare at his folded hands. "I don't know if she cares much," he said quietly.

"Oh my god," Bellatrix realized. "You want to get married, don't you?"

His gaze hardened and turned back to her black eyes. "It's not as simple as that," he began. "I can't just go up to her and propose—"

"Of course you can!" she interrupted. "What, you don't think she'll say yes?"

"How can she?" Lucius's eyes grew somber. "She doesn't need me."

Bellatrix scoffed at his weakness. "Please, Lucius, Friday needs you more than any other person in the world."

"No," he said shortly, "I'm not doing that to her. Ruining her chances in Quidditch because of an engagement to me."

"You're such an idiot," Bellatrix said tiredly. "Just because you're engaged doesn't mean she can't play."

"Of course it does!" Lucius exasperatedly confessed. "My family wants to see me marry a little pet who will stay at home all day and mother our children. You can't honestly think that's what Friday will do. She'll be out in the arena, throwing herself at men who can offer her something I cannot."

"Lucius!" Bellatrix stood up, fury in her voice. "She loves you! I know she does! Why wait? Don't let yourself destroy your life when you could live it any way you want to."

"That is so easy for you to say," Lucius said, his anger matching Bellatrix's completely, "Wake up, Bellatrix. Pureblood families aren't about to begin a new destiny. Don't try to change me just because your upset about your life. Your getting married to a man you will never love, and there's nothing you can do about it."

The witch and the wizard were frozen for a moment. If the world could have been silent, the office was as good as that. Wind whistled through the open windows that towered over the streets outside, ducking around pieces of parchment and shaking piles of books until they were close to toppling over. The same wind blew Bellatrix's black curls away from her face and Lucius's blonde hair further in his, whipped black robes around wildly, played with the hems of dark fabric casually. It pulled the sun behind a cloud and made the office room emerge into darkness.

"You're right," she said quietly. "There is nothing I can do about it."

The two would have stayed in silence for several moments more were it not for a knock on Lucius's door that pulled them both out of their trance. Lucius stood as Bellatrix threw him a parting glance and went to the door, ready to push past any ministry official who might meet her presence. She heard Lucius say from what felt like miles behind her, "Enter," and the door swung open.

Bellatrix almost screamed of shock, fury, and partially, amusement. In the doorway in front of her, a tall, black-haired man stood silhouetted, his skin tan, his body toned and chiseled behind the black robes he wore. His face was impressive; generous lips, thick eyebrows, a well-kept mustache and beard, and sincere dark eyes, as they had been when she had studied them as a fifth year in the Prefect's bathroom as well as on a drunken night in Diagon Alley only a few months ago.

"Bellatrix Black," the voice of Rodolphus Lestrange said softly, his expression growing alight at seeing the pale, beautiful witch again before him. "What a surprise."


	18. Chapter 18: The Only Man She Ever Loved

_You little shit._

His amused smile grew wider, and his thoughts spoke back to her, _I can hear you, you realize that. _

Bellatrix Black was frozen in the Ministry office, staring at a man in front of her. Rarely was she absolutely rigid with conflicted emotion as she was now. Her dark curls seemed to stop moving, her blood barely coursing, her black eyes never blinking, even her heart ceasing to beat. Clothed in a black gown, which tightly covered her stomach and waist and flowed out gently from her hips to the floor past her heeled black boots, with long sleeves that did little to hide her thin, glowing arms, she suddenly felt herself not covered enough in his presence. The ever-attractive, dark wizard, only two years older than her, somehow made her feel like a child. She could not believe how long it had taken her to realize the first man she had drunkenly slept with in Diagon Alley was Rodolphus Lestrange, and how disgusting he was for failing to point out that significant detail to her.

"Can I help you, Rodolphus?" Lucius's voice interjected into Bellatrix's stream of consciousness.

Rodolphus, his eyes not flickering from Bellatrix's furious gaze, responded, "No, not at the moment, but Bella surely can."

With a tension that surely could have snapped her bones in half, she clenched her jaw to restrain from screaming profanities at him. His wickedly attractive smile made her stiff strain of fury more relaxed. Rodolphus's eyes met the confused expression upon Lucius's face and he casually requested, "Would you mind giving us a moment?"

Lucius, who under daily circumstances would have said, _No, find your own office, _looked from Rodolphus's pleading expression to Bellatrix's bottled rage and nodded hesitantly, walking swiftly past the still witch and sliding around the tall wizard, who then stepped further into the room, allowing Lucius to leave the office and close the door behind him. Then Rodolphus moved directly in front of the oak door, stopping any chance of Bellatrix leaving.

When she realized this, Bellatrix raised an impatient, perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him, as if commanding, _Move_. He countered hers perfectly, rhetorically responding with his sly smile and fascinated eyes, _Make me_.

They stood in silence for several moments more before Bellatrix angrily burst out, "I hate you."

He laughed, his voice a deep, seductive tone. "Why?" he playfully asked, enjoying her anger. "What did I do that was wrong?"

"Are you serious?" she almost laughed in rage. Her body regained its rapid movement, now pounding with anxiety, and color flooded to her lips as she furiously responded, "You completely used me."

Rodolphus's smile fell slightly, irritated by her frustration. He took a step towards her, to which she immediately took a step backwards, and proceeded to defend himself. "Bloody hell, Bellatrix, _you_ threw yourself at _me_, do you remember?"

Her black eyes were livid with anger. "And in what world does that allow you screw me when I'm clearly not conscious of it?" she yelled back.

Rodolphus, his superior, lofty demeanor now fading, had not expected the conversation to move in this direction, in which he could not find defense for himself. Had she not enjoyed it as much as he had? His dark eyes stared meaningfully into her black ones and he pleaded, "Bella, I'm—"

"DON'T call me that," she said, her voice fighting to get louder.

He paused for a moment, as if waiting for Bellatrix to interrupt him again. Rodolphus took another step towards her and said something he did not want to say, for it made him feel weak. "I thought you knew it was me."

She blinked rather obnoxiously, clearing her vision of thick lashes that seemed to crowd her eyes, and scoffed in disgust, noticing also that at this point, he had come further away from the door. Desperate to end the conversation, she spat across harshly, "Really? What part of what I said or did would give you any idea that I knew it was you?"

Rodolphus was silent for a moment, a stiff expression etched across his chiseled face. Her cruel words sunk in, and his eyes changed, now just as angry as she was.

"We're done," Bellatrix said darkly, a resonating air of finality ringing in her voice. She stared him down furiously, commanding him to get out of the way with her piercing, black eyes. He moved aside and tensely gestured for her to walk out the door.

"Fine," he remarked bitterly, turning his head slightly to not her look at her as she left him, for a fear of changing his mind and wishing to apologize as her beautiful body floated past him was a very real concern of his.

"Fine!" she yelled back, her black curls licking his dark robes as she pushed past his strong figure and threw open the office door, bursted into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement corridor. Lucius, who had been waiting patiently outside his door the entire time, finally turned to go back in, catching a whiplash from Bellatrix's ferocious hair when she turned sharply and made her way to the lift.

Her soulless eyes memorized the dark wood floor until she was again in the lift, alone now. Her furious mind and wandering eyes searched the empty space for an answer to her feelings. She was mad, yes, but the emotions inside of her were warped and misled. She was almost tempted to run back into the hall and burst into Lucius's office, pledging her apologies to Rodolphus and serenading his beautiful face with her lips.

_Stop it, Bellatrix, _she thought sternly to herself. _Do not mix up wrong with right. What he did was wrong. You are not right in not wanting to forgive him—wait, no, you are right, you shouldn't forgive him. But he is sorry, I mean, you could see it in his eyes—NO, he's not, damn it! _

Her thoughts traveled back to Hogwarts, when they were both prefects. He was the star Quidditch player, the fascination of many students (including Friday, as Bellatrix remembered), and was also very skilled in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She always caught herself staring at him in a very natural way, and Bellatrix remembered the embarrassed feeling she rarely experienced occur when he might turn and notice her. He was the only person she had ever noticed, the only boy she had ever gone out of her way to think about.

The snow had been falling relentlessly, and Slytherin had beat Gryffindor after a brutal battle for the Snitch between Rodolphus and James. She had been in the prefect's bathroom because she was freezing to death in the stands, and the boiling water in the pool-like tub would bring life back to her bones. She had emerged from one of the changing stalls, her pearly white flesh exposed to the warm air of the marble bathroom. The steam from the hot water blurred her senses and left out pieces of the memory, but Bellatrix could still remember having though she was alone and being so alarmed when a figure was already in the bath.

Rodolphus had turned and looked at her, and she could see the impressed smile on his face when he had seen her standing there, naked before him. She had climbed into the water and he had swam over to her, meeting her where she stood in the water. She remembered how his warm, strong, damp chest had felt against her cold fingers. He had suddenly pulled her under the water and kissed her, and she came up to the surface shocked and gasping for breath. Her huge mass of black hair fell down to her waist and she had laughed when he came up to breathe, a satisfied smile on his face, his hands lightly pulling her further into the water by her waist. She had remembered the soft feeling of his wet hair intwined in her fingers, and how sincere he had been. But above all, she remembered the moment when he had asked. His lips broke from hers as she was trapped up against the wall of the pool. His brown eyes studied her black ones. And the kindest words, the only time she had ever heard those words, sprung from his soft lips:

"Shall I stop?"

And she had been frozen in that moment, his hands on her body, her arms around his neck, silent in the power of his sweetness. She smiled and laughed and had whispered, "No," and he had smiled back at her, his lips again pressing against hers again.

"Bella?"

The golden doors to the empty elevator opened and the stern face of Cygnus Black stared across at his eldest daughter's conflicted expression.

"Father," she said quietly, her eyes falling to the floor, her hands meeting in front of her. Her entire body seemed to shrink in front of him, and her confidence shriveled on the spot.

Cygnus Black was terribly stereotypical for a man of his stature. He worked in the Ministry of Magic and held a high-paying, well-respected position amongst men. The man who had plagued Bellatrix's nightmares was a different one than the man who stood before her now. A decade ago, Cygnus was muscular, tan, and dark haired. He was in a state of constant aggression, an impatient expression holding power on his face, as if whenever face to face with another person, he held not the slightest care in the world. But that man was much changed compared to the one who stood before her now. This Cygnus was stiff and old and consistently appeared to be tired. His receding hairline was showcased by his silver, once black, straight locks, slicked back across his scalp. His eyes were dark brown, unlike his eldest daughter's, and his skin was much less pale. He was still very tall but his strength had left him, and his thinness was not a sign of health but of weakness. His shoulders arched slightly of age, and he walked with a cane out of necessity.

Cygnus's voice was deep and rasping, croaking from the many cigars he had smoked in his life. "Bella, what are you doing here?" he asked in his exhausted tone.

"Just leaving," she barely spoke, her slim body slipping past him as she attempted to escape from the lift. She saw his cane come down in front of her feet, blocking her path, and she cursed herself for not being fast enough. Now his body was right next to hers, his familiar, cold scent of tobacco overbearing in her nose.

"What were you doing in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" he pestered quietly.

Her tears could never be suppressed in his presence. Black curls falling around her face and hiding her even further, Bellatrix's voice choked in a desperate, whispered reply, "Nothing, father."

They were still for several moments more before another wizard came up behind them and Cygnus removed his cane from his daughter's path, taking her place in the elevator as Bellatrix nearly ran out of the Ministry of Magic. Her mind was alive as she disapparated back to her home, hurriedly forcing the horrid thoughts that sprung up in her consciousness out of the way. This was not the moment to bring all of that pain up again. She would save it for later that night, in the solitude of her room, when it was just her and her knife. For now, she would wipe her tears and put on a tighter corset.

Slamming the large door to the Black mansion shut, Bellatrix leaned against it and sighed, closing her eyes. Emotional upheaval was quite taxing on her physical energy, and even more so to her sanity. She could suppress the thoughts of Cygnus because she had learned how to adapt to his pain after sitting with it for so many years. But now there was a new kind of hurt that memories of Cyngus brought to her mind, because in these days, whenever thoughts of Cygnus came up, so did thoughts of Riddle. And Riddle was the only thing Bellatrix had not yet learned to ignore.


	19. Chapter 19: The Ladies Who Lunch

"Well, look who decided to come back home," a sharp voice cut into her thoughts.

Bellatrix moaned and opened her eyes, her distraught expression meeting the unfriendly face of Druella Black, whose anger could not be more apparent.

"Your punishment for disappearing shall be determined later," Druella said through clenched teeth as she finished descending the staircase, her hands clasped together tightly, "Because now, you are going to get ready."

"For what?" Bellatrix whined, her stiletto heel kicking the slick, tiled floor.

Druella's stern, thin-lipped mouth grew tighter as she exasperatedly explained, "If you had been listening to me this morning, you would known that we are going to tea at the Lestrange's."

Suddenly, Bellatrix stood up straight, her eyes widening, her pale skin transforming into a sickly shade of ghost white. "Lestrange?" she muttered quietly, almost laughing to herself. "You're not serious."

Druella sneered at her daughter. "You are going to become a pure-blood wife whether you like it or not," she barked, "And if I am to trust you with upholding the family honor, I expect you to meet some of the other Sacred Twenty-Eight."

Bellatrix felt as though she could regurgitate her intestines. If only Druella had picked any day but today. After her explosion with Rodolphus only an hour ago, she couldn't muster up the strength to face the outside world again, much less his home. What if she saw him there? What if she had to confront that painfully pleasing feeling his presence aroused in her? What if she couldn't hold her ground against him? "Please," Bellatrix begged, desperate eyes pleading with her mother, "I can't go, please, not today . . ."

Druella glared at her daughter. "Bellatrix, your approach to this entire arranged marriage has been simply dreadful. Now, we are pressed for time and I want you to look somewhat presentable," she exasperatedly exclaimed at daughter, a skeptical glance tearing over the Bellatrix's perfect physique hidden under a simple, black gown.

"No, I can't, not today," Bellatrix said, rushing over to her mother, urgency written in her black, soulless eyes.

Druella laughed cruelly. "You're pathetic," she said evilly, "And I will not condone your empty excuses."

With that, Druella's horrifying nails grasped a lock of Bellatrix's glossy, thick black curls and pulled hard, dragging the young woman up three flights of steps to make Bellatrix, in Druella's eyes, beautiful.

The Lestrange manor possessed an attitude of cold unhappiness and discomfort. Roughly six stories in height and the size of a Quidditch stadium, faded black stones circled up from the ground and wove together, forming many large spires and angular architectural directions. Surroundings the castle of a house, gray, unkempt cracked earth spread across hilly terrain for acres, eventually rising as a forest in the far distance. Solemn, tall, black marble steps climbed up to a great black oak door.

Inside the manor, on the first floor, far back within the maze of rooms, a rigid, unsmiling witch sat beside grey flames in a massive stone fireplace. Her stiff posture and developed physique were illuminated by the glowing light which provided an unfriendly source of warmth to the cold room. While the fire cast light on only small portions of the large room, many tables, chairs, portraits, and decorations remained hidden in shadows. Her black gown flowed into the dark wood floors, draped far past her legs in her seated position. Chills ran endlessly over and inside of every part of her body, but this had ceased to faze her after the first few minutes of being in the house. She had come to rather enjoy it. Her black eyes were mesmerized by the flames, silky raven hair in perfect curls flowing down to her waist. Dark thoughts held her attention in perfect solitude. Sharp black nails wove in and out of thin, pale fingers. Her ghostly white semblance would have been shocking had it not been for the fascinating beauty that overshadowed her skeletal being. Full, red lips poised elegantly on her angular face, a thin nose, and hollowed, defined cheekbones outlined her face. Thick eyelashes crowded her sunken-in eyes and skilled, arched black eyebrows topped expression. She seemed to be in a sort of dark, pensive mindset, but just how dark no one could ever possibly understand.

Her long fingers gripped her black-clad left forearm violently, her thumb nail tracing over scars that lay beneath her gown's dark fabric. The witch's arms and back were forever covered in black, tight fabric, never letting the disfigured pale skin see the sunlight. But the dress wrapped itself only over her shoulders and stopped, letting her lust-provoking breasts be exemplified by the black fabric. A tight leather corset clung to her nonexistent stomach and waist, and the gentle fabric that flowed out at her hips dispersed elegantly over the armchair she was poised in.

Bellatrix was seated in a room of witches who babbled endlessly amongst each other, talking over trivial and, to Bellatrix, boring affairs. Gossip over whose husband was doing what seemed to go on for hours, and the youngest witch could not find any fascination with it. Furthest away from her sat Mrs. Avery, a plump, brunette woman who was rather reserved and only spoke when she felt her comment necessary to the conversation (which, as it was, tended to rarely occur). Next to Mrs. Avery sat Madame Greengrass, thinner by comparison, who was quite the chatterbox, frequently reciting the line, "But those bloody half-breeds!" Mrs. Rowle and Ms. Travers appeared to be twins, both sharing sprightly blonde hair, pink skin, and blue eyes. They were reserved, speaking only to each other if they spoke at all, and seeming to be insignificant in the scheme of women at the pure-blood table. Continuing down the table was Druella, and seated beside her was Madame Bulstrode, who very much resembled a toad. Her gawking expression and boisterous voice could cut through any conversation, and the faded green she chose to dress in did not help her case. Across from her sat Mrs. Nott, another woman whose son, like Madame Yaxley's, had been a possible contender for Bellatrix's husband. Bellatrix supposed she preferred Madame Yaxley to Mrs. Nott, for the obscurity of Mrs. Nott made her almost disappear from the room. If not prompted in a conversation, it was likely that she would never speak. And at the end of the table, seated across from Bellatrix, was Madame Lestrange, a woman who Bellatrix greatly admired.

Bellatrix had known Madame Lestrange since she was very young. It was strange—Madame Lestrange, not even her sons as well, had always been around, having tea with Druella, speaking with Cygnus about economics. But her presence had always been positively impressionable in Bellatrix's mind. Madame Lestrange was in many ways just like Bellatrix. She had an admirable figure, tan skin, and shoulder-length, straight black hair. Her face resembled Rodolphus's in many ways, and while it made Bellatrix feel terribly conflicted thinking about him, she could not deny that several of his positive physical attributes were closely linked with his mothers'. But what made Madame Lestrange superior to every woman at that table was her tremendous intelligence and wit. She, like many of them, had been forced into an arranged marriage with Monsieur Lestrange, but had made the best of it despite her circumstances. Bellatrix believed she was truly friends with her husband, and did enjoy her life in the cold, great manor she was trapped in now. It was a marriage Bellatrix had, for a long time, thought unattainable.

"And when the letter came home that he had been causing mischief in the school, I thought, well, it better have been worth it," Madame Lestrange ranted, telling Bellatrix about the incident in which Rabastan had caught fire to a large portion of the Slytherin common room. Bellatrix, who had been in her fourth year, had not been there for the accident, (she had been in the library) but the rumors spread almost as fast as the fire itself and Rabastan's reputation grew along with it.

"But alas, Rabby couldn't have done something interesting," the witch rolled her eyes in exasperation, "He had to be catching fire."

Bellatrix smiled lightly in response to her story. But her mind could not help but link Riddle and Hogwarts together, and the smile on her red lips quickly faded. Madame Lestrange watched as the young girl's thoughts skewed astray, and after several minutes of pretending to engage with other conversation, she leaned over to Bellatrix and asked quietly, "Would you mind assisting me with the desserts my dear?"

"What?" Bellatrix said, dazed, coming out of her reverie, her black eyes widening apologetically at Madame Lestrange. "Oh, of course."

"Excellent," Madame Lestrange remarked kindly, a smile twinkling in her eye, "I would give anything to get away from these ladies."

Bellatrix smiled shyly and, with another encouraging nod from Madame Lestrange, both women silently got up from the table and slipped out of the room.

Staring down the long hallway, Bellatrix followed as the shorter woman lead her down a maze of hallways in the mansion, every black, shining wall blending in with the last. Their heels clicked along the wooden floorboards until they reached a set of stairs, which Madame Lestrange climbed up rather anxiously, Bellatrix following in elegant stride. Once they reached the top, Madame Lestrange let out an exasperated gasp.

"Seems as though the years truly are catching up with me," she admitted sadly, beginning to stroll down the long expanse of hallways, Bellatrix walking beside her.

"So, tell me, my dear," Madame Lestrange began, "I heard of your engagement. I could not express deeper condolences."

Bellatrix smiled to herself. "It is an arrangement I do not find myself . . . worthy of," she said after long consideration.

"My dear," Madame Lestrange scoffed, "It is an arrangement _he_ is not worthy of. In any case, I understand your desperation to be rid of that marriage. The Yaxley's are not my favorite pure-blood family."

They walked in silence for several moments more, Bellatrix trying to restrain herself from beginning a fuming rant of things she had felt were unjust for so long, things she felt Madame Lestrange could understand. But she remembered whose company she was in, she remembered the mess of a relationship she and Rodolphus were in, and she closed her mouth.

"Tell me, my dear," Madame Lestrange said suddenly, "Have you spoken with my eldest son recently?"

Bellatrix was rather taken aback. "Rodolphus?" she asked hesitantly. "Why?"

Madame Lestrange took her questioning response as confirmation and continued, "He has been rather . . . distracted lately. I assumed you two knew each other in school, and since you've graduated I . . . well, I was curious to know if you had had any interaction with him. You see," Madame Lestrange gathered her breath, as if about to break into a dramatic tale, "My husband has been pressuring Rodolphus to find a wife in these past few months, and I am sure it has lead my poor son to act out in . . . unhealthy ways," she finished strangely, as if she had swallowed a gulp of sour breath.

Bellatrix scoffed and raised an eyebrow, knowing precisely which unhealthy ways Rodolphus had been acting out in.

Madame Lestrange turned on Bellatrix suddenly, gripping her arm and staring at her with wide eyes. "I knew you'd seen him since," she said triumphantly, taking Bellatrix's subtle behavior as acknowledgement of her question.

"I . . ." Bellatrix stared at Madame Lestrange's menacing grip with no words.

"Please, you must know how sorry he is," Madame Lestrange began sympathetically, "He's much to proud to admit it but he fell in love with you at Hogwarts and has thought of no one but you since then, and when he found out about your engagement he was furious, but he saw you at that bar in Diagon Alley months ago and he couldn't resist because Bellatrix, he loves you, but he couldn't regret it more, actually, but he hasn't the nerve to tell you—"

"Madame Lestrange!" Bellatrix interrupted suddenly, wrenching her arm from the woman's hand, overwhelmed by the story. "How is it you know all of this?"

Madame Lestrange smirked slightly. "Legilimens becomes a vital tool of survival when raising two boys."

Bellatrix almost smiled at her joke but kept the corners of her lips taught. "Why did you tell me this?"

"_Why_?" Madame Lestrange said, laughing lightly. "I want you to know, dear, that he truly loves you, because I fear he may be too afraid to tell you himself for fear of rejection, and by the time he could work up enough courage, it would be to late."

Bellatrix was silent for a moment, her thoughts oddly calm. It made her heart float to think that Rodolphus . . . _loved _her. Is love what she felt for him—the unrelenting smiles that commanded her lips around him, the way she could not stay angry at him for long in his presence? But she was still furious, what he had done was inexcusably wrong. Yet, as she had considered before, he regretting his mistake more than was possible . . . but how did she know Madame Lestrange was telling the truth? How could she trust this woman—what if she was deceiving her to destroy her marriage, to force Bellatrix to make a fool of herself, to force her further into a devastating mess of men? How could she have faith in herself to know that she wasn't making a mistake in letting herself acknowledge his . . . love? How could he love her, after such minimal interaction, after years of not speaking? How could this be real?

"My dear," Madame Lestrange said, her hand gently grasping Bellatrix's own, pulling Bellatrix from her thoughts. "I do not lie. I tell you this because I want to show you that you can choose your fate. Your parents may have locked you into a box for your whole life. But it doesn't have to be that way. It does not have to be with Rodolphus, either. But it could be."

Bellatrix felt tears swelling in her eyes, her cold heart melting slightly, her limbs shivering at the thought of escaping Yaxley. She realized that Madame Lestrange must have read her mind using magic, and for once in her life, she didn't care that someone had taken advantage of her. But then she remembered the conversation she had had with Rodolphus only a few hours ago, how firmly his resolve was that he had not wronged her, how furious it made her feel, and she pulled back slightly, her body folding inwardly as her sliver of hopeful confidence retreated.

"No," Bellatrix said, standing up straight again, her cold demeanor taking residence over her tone again. "Madame Lestrange, I don't believe we are speaking of same man. He had his chance to say such things to me himself. I do not want to hear anymore."

The two women were silent. Madame Lestrange bowed her head in acknowledgment, not pressing Bellatrix any further.

"Bellatrix," Madame Lestrange finally cut in, "May I ask you for a favor?"

Numbly, Bellatrix nodded.

"My husband has arranged a party, a ball, for Rodolphus, hoping he may find a wife. Come. Bring your sisters, your parents. It would mean more than you can imagine to . . . to me," she said, catching herself before she spoke on behalf of her son again. "Please, dear. Consider it."

Bellatrix looked at Madame Lestrange blankly and nodded lightly. The elder woman stared sympathetically into the young witch's black eyes, searching, as many did, for something to tell her what she wanted to know. But as many women before Madame Lestrange had found, Bellatrix would never give her an answer. Her soul lay concealed behind too many broken loves, wallowing on the dusty floor of her heart, waiting for someone to sort through the wreckage and find what treasure lay behind.


	20. Chapter 20: An Interlude

He thought.

Part of the reason she had been so desirous was how juvenile she was. So immature, so childish. It made her thirsting screams all the more delicious, all the better. He imagined pouring over her flawless, young body now. But she could not be young anymore. Time and life and men must have changed her.

He stared at the brunette woman kneeled before his naked body and suddenly, vengefully, pushed her off of him and threw her against a wall. She cried pitifully, not tastefully, the way he wanted her to. Livid with anger, he reached down and dug his nails into her throat, ripping her flesh apart. Contorted screams filled the room and foul neon blood washed over his pale skin. He continued pulling at her now apparent tan skin, which he could plainly see was not the pale body he craved, until he met her organs. Then he threw her bleeding corpse in a corner, which knocked into a table and crushed the only light source in the room. He waved his hand over his own body, clothing himself once more. The blood vanished from his hands and he stared at the pale moon, his thoughts circling madly.

No one was enough. Years had passed, and still he had found nothing close to her. Maybe not even she was enough for what he craved now. But she had been close. And he suddenly began to want something other than power, for the first time in his life—he wanted a woman.

Surly she didn't remember what he wanted of her—she had never really known. They had their one night together and then they were finished. But his thoughts were alive, and he wanted her now.

How would she approach him now, years later—like she did other men? He was the only one who wanted to see her in pain. Did he want her to pleasure him? Was his pleasure from touching her alone? He was not sure he knew himself.

And suddenly she was with him, standing in front of the bloodied corpse, rigid and willing before him. His eyes drank up the matured body, and she stared for so long she was no longer sure why she was there. His dark eyes demanded so much from her. But he did not express yet what it was he wanted.

His magic suddenly had her up against his body. They were silent. He took in her aura, absorbing her changes, what had been done to her, what she had done to others. He touched one of her curls with a wary finger, then forcefully grabbed a fistful of dark hair, sensing how it slipped through his calloused, tired hands. His palm traced over her pale, sharply protruding collar bone. He clutched her throat dangerously. She was too perfect, but she was what he wanted.

His lips were not seasoned and unsure. She complied expertly, much unlike her squirming, young response had been years ago. But he found his way again, and he felt the pleasure he had been searching for. Her cold, thin hands naturally wove along his toned body, tingling his skin. Desperately, his fingers ripped off her black gown and clawed to enter her, aching to know the skin of her perfection again. He felt the vibrations of her moan, let his lips part from hers just so he could hear her emit the beautiful gasps she had a habit of exhibiting. He wanted more. His lips moved down her thin body, his knees reaching the floor, his tongue replacing his pale fingers. She screamed and he drank it up. His mouth moved faster, more skillfully, provoking every sound he could, his nails grasping her thin legs, his hand moving up her body, feeling for her breasts, entangled in black curls. She was still so perfect, her taste so sweet.

She bit down on her lip and threw her head back, her spine arching desperately. Her nails clung to the scratched paint on the window sill, one of her legs draped over his shoulder as he kneeled before her, an arm wrapped around her thigh while another combed over her nonexistent stomach and large breasts.

He needed more. In one motion, he turned her around, pushing her against the wall, stood up, and abruptly entered her, his hands encompassing her body, pulling her as close as he could. He focused on the movement of her black curls, slipping and sliding over her pale, flawless, glowing back. She clutched the wall for support, gasping and crying in distorted pain and pleasure. No one was like him.

How many things could he do to her, could he get from her? He memorized her thin body, every inch of her tall height, each diameter of every rotating strand of raven hair, the blissful, air like feeling of her full lips, the abundance and perfection of her breasts, her unblemished skin, her sunken-in eyes, glowing pale white when skin closed upon them but piercingly black when staring at him, her agile hips and swaying torso, the thin, almost dancing quality of her long, smooth, silk-like legs, the perfect gap between her thighs that let whatever part of his body he desired provoke her inside.

He rarely tired, in fact, he could go many hours before letting her perfect form, close to unconsciousness from exhaustion, lay still and silent. And when she slept, he would stare at her, occasionally tracing over her with his lips or his fingers, hungrily touching her still form even as she slept. There would be times when she would awaken to him forcefully prodding inside of her again, or massaging her lips with his, or feeling her, gently or aggressively. She did her best to keep up with him, he knew, but she knew that he felt empowered over her human quality of exhaustion, of tiring, of being satiated. It was never enough for him, but the empty hole inside of him was patched with other means of pleasure; taking souls, causing relentless pain, achieving power, gaining total control. His dominance was certainly reflected in his ways with her, but as he chose to ignore it, she did create a weakness in him—he did not ever want to see her soul leave her body. Causing her pain and controlling her were beautiful expressions of his hunger, but to kill her would be to rip up the rules of love and murder.

Dark brown eyes opened. His mind was fresh with the thought of his subconscious dreaming, his body reflecting every mortal desire. He stared at the blank walls which surrounded the wizard's home he had stayed in that evening. There was no dying prostitute in the corner, no young witch to deliberate him from misery. But the hazy moon still hung ominously in the sky, seeping minimal light in through the broken window. He stared at the beacon of incandescent light, mesmerized by its immortality. He thought back to his dream, of his rage and of his pleasure with one woman, something that had built up in him for many moons now.

Where was the woman of his dreams now? Could she be married? Was she already producing pureblood prodigies? What man had claimed over her? What was she feeling? Could she still perform magic as eloquently has he had witnessed her do long ago? What had become of her father, what had become of her feelings—what had become of her?

Tom Riddle realized then that he had just thought about Bellatrix Black for the first time in months.

He thought more.


	21. Chapter 21: The Letters

_November 22, 1969_

_My dearest Bellatrix,_

_I'm coming home! Life is nothing extraordinary—Russian Qudditch players are scary, in case you were wondering. I intend to find you and spend several nights drinking you out of house and home, so don't make any plans during the week of New Years. _

_I heard it was Yaxley. I cannot be more sorry. Have you figured out a grand scheme to escape? I'm sure I'll hear all about it soon. _

_Also, I've been hearing about some You-Know-Who. He keeps appearing in conversations all over the world. Who is this mysterious wizard, at least according to the Daily Prophet? _

_I expect to be returning to England in a few weeks. Don't die without me._

_-Friday Addams_

_November 30, 1969_

_Friday,_

_I'm sure you're doing incredibly on the Quidditch team. Your presence is greatly missed here—I can't seem to find anyone decent anymore._

_Well . . . that's a lie. Partially. Friday, I'm mixed up in a very grand mess, it seems. You remember Rodolphus Lestrange, from Hogwarts? He keeps appearing in my life! I don't know what it is, but last summer we were in a bar and I had no idea it was him, honestly, I didn't, but one thing led to another and then he was just there, in the Ministry of Magic, when I talked to Lucius a few weeks ago! And now his mother is telling me how in love with me he is and today he was in my house because he was talking to Cygnus about the Ministry, or something, and I'm going to this Christmas party of his where he's going to look at all these beautiful women and find a new wife and oh God, Friday, I'm so stupid. _

_You know I don't believe in love, and I keep thinking of sensible reasons to hate him, but then I'm around him and I can't stop smiling! I'm smiling right now just writing to you. God, what's happening to me. And of course I'm engaged to someone else, and it's not like I could just _stop_ being engaged to Yaxley. Give me some advice, Friday. I have no clue what I'm doing. _

_You-Know-Who, also called the Dark Lord, seems to be on a murdering spree. His followers are constantly appearing in the papers having killed or tortured groups of muggles, mud-bloods, half-breeds, and blood-traitors. It sounds intriguing, at least to me. I heard Cygnus say the man is dangerous, that he wants to have no part with him. I want to know more. I'll let know you what I find out. _

_Also, have you spoken with Lucius lately? Or Severus? _

_Stay alive. Please. _

_-Bellatrix Black_

_December 15, 1969_

_My dearest Bellatrix,_

_If you stop whatever romance you have going on, I will personally hunt you down and strangle you._

_Are you serious? You and Rodolphus are in love? I'm going to cry. You can't let him slip away, no matter your engagement to Yaxley or whatever family pressure there is. I am dying to come home now. _

_Lucius is such an asshole. I know he wants to marry me, but his pureblood ideals are holding him back. I've tried to write to him about it a few times and he keeps giving me these awkward, short responses. He visited me once in Italy. We spent a great night together, (and I mean, it was better than anything we'd done in Hogwarts) and then the next day I tried to talk to him about our future and he got all weird. Whatever, I'll make him come around to the idea of marrying a working woman. _

_I have no clue what's happening with Severus. Maybe you should investigate that._

_-Friday Addams_

_December 26, 1969_

_Friday,_

_I got married last night. To Rodolphus Lestrange._

_My heart is exploding. I have not felt this kind of joy since God knows when. Can I just tell you the whole story? _

_Remember that party he was having at his manor to try to find a bride? Well, that was yesterday, and all of these Sacred Twenty-Eight families were there, including my family and Yaxley's. And he saw me and asked me to dance, and everyone was confused and gaping at me but I didn't care. And later that night he asked me to take a walk with him in the garden, even though it was snowing. And I was wearing this gorgeous black gown Friday, it was perfect. He told me he loved me, and then asked me to marry him, and I said yes. There is a beautiful black diamond on my hand right now, glistening in the sun coming in from this dimly lit bedroom. I'm at his house right now, I spent all last night with him (he is just as good as I remembered.) _

_Mother and father won't speak to me. I'm living in the Lestrange Manor now. Narcissa is going to bring everything from the house to his manor today, I believe. There will be no formal wedding—last night, he conjured up some papers, and we signed and, well, it's done. _

_So when you come visit me, please do not make the mistake of going to the Black estate. The owl knows where Lestrange Manor is, apparate with it when you plan to come. _

_My name has changed, Friday. I will never have to see Druella or Cygnus again. I will never have to think about Yaxley. Life could not be more blissful._

_Here goes—this is the first time I'm writing it—_

_-Bellatrix Black Lestrange_

_August 19, 1970_

_My dearest Bellatrix,_

_I hope your wretched family has not destroyed you yet. I'm going to need someone to help me find a wedding dress. _

_Yes, a wedding dress. That idiot Malfoy finally proposed. We went through about three bottles of fire whisky before I accepted._

_How's the husband? He looked bloody beautiful when I visited. Your life is as amazing as you._

_Looks like we're on the verge of a war. This Dark Lord has certainly made an impression on the Wizarding World. _

_Cheers to rich men._

_-Friday Addams_

_October 13, 1970_

_Friday,_

_I knew he'd propose. You better plan the wedding I didn't have, and I want to be a part of every step._

_How has life become this strange, happily-ever-after? I live in an incredible house where I am lavished in wealth and make love every night to a man who actually cares for me. It's a nice change._

_Life without a job is oddly interesting. The Lestrange's have a library that's three times the size of Hogwarts's, and I spend most days reading and practicing magic. I can still perform the Unforgivables fairly well. I am quite glad to not have a job, actually. Rodolphus says the war is growing more brutal every day. I'm not sure how he feels about it, or which side he would prefer to stand on. The Dark Lord seems to be the more attractive choice to me, but he knows far more about current events than I, and I don't challenge that. _

_You won't believe who I saw in Yorkshire the other day—Severus! Apparently he spent the last few months traveling around the countryside and plans to settle somewhere up North. I told him to come visit—he said he might. I'm sure he's skeptical of my marriage, but he will love that you and Lucius are finally getting married, so make sure you invite him to the wedding._

_Have fun with Lucius._

_-Bellatrix Lestrange._

_January 5, 1971_

_My dearest Bellatrix,_

_I don't feel different now that I'm married. You made it sound pretty dramatic. Well, I suppose it was for you. Is it because I still have my job? Maybe. Now I have a ring as well, which I'm not allowed to wear when I play because it's "jewelry" or whatever. By the way, didn't you just love my Quidditch friends at the wedding? Poor Lucius, he was so disturbed._

_Is it just me, or is sex weird when you're married? Of course I love Lucius to death, but it feels more controlled, I guess. Rodolphus is probably different—you two are perfect together, I can't imagine your life not being sexy all the time. Maybe I need to bring new things into the bedroom . . . _

_Give me an update on everyone. I'm heading to Spain soon for Quidditch. Tell Rodolphus he's beautiful for me. When I get back, we can do what all rich women do and spend lots of money on ridiculous things. _

_Don't die without me, darling. I mean it._

_-Friday Malfoy_

_May 2, 1972_

_Friday,_

_I have a confession. I'm pregnant. _

_This is the first time in my marriage that I have felt I need to conceal something from Rodolphus. And I'm sure he wouldn't be mad, he would probably be happy, he'd probably be excited, but I'm not. I don't want a child. Especially a girl. How could I protect her from this world of awful men? I hope she doesn't look like me. I could never be a mother. Maybe a son would be alright. But a girl? How could I protect her from men like my father? _

_Am I overreacting? I don't want a baby. Friday, tell me what to do. I know I should talk to Rodolphus. I probably will by the time you have written back. I'm terribly conflicted._

_The due date is January 31._

_-Bellatrix Lestrange_

_July 14, 1972_

_My dearest Bellatrix, _

_This is one of those moments where I will hunt you down and strangle you if you make the wrong decision. _

_Bellatrix, this is your chance to be the mother you never had, to create the family you always wanted! You need to give this child that chance, whether it be a girl or a boy. This is what a coward would do, Bellatrix—run away from the scary things. _

_Look, whatever you do, don't kill it. Just let it grow, and when its actually in your arms and out of your stomach, you can decide. And if you don't want it, at least give it to me—I'm sure it'll be one hell of a beautiful child._

_Don't screw this up, you idiot._

_-Friday Malfoy_

_February 5, 1973_

_Friday,_

_The child has arrived!. It was, as expected, January 31. She is healthy and beautiful. Yes, it is a she. Her name is Anastasia Elladora Lestrange. She looks exactly like me, it's frightening, except for her eyes—they are Rodolphus's. And God, giving birth is hell. _

_Lucius and much of Rodolphus's family have visited. Narcissa should be coming tomorrow with Andromeda. I wish you could be here to see her. She has not cried yet, and I hope it lasts. But her eyes are wide awake, drinking up the world. It is amusing to watch Rodolphus be a father. He could not be kinder. The war has had him on edge, and aside from me, there is little that can distract him. I hope Anastasia will help him._

_I hope you're okay with this, but I made you and Lucius the godparents. Come home soon, darling. I miss you._

_-Bellatrix Lestrange_

_June 24, 1976_

_Bellatrix,_

_I hate everything. I hate everyone. Lucius cheated on me with your bloody sister. You know how I found out? I came home two weekends ago and found her clothes in a mess of his. I will fucking kill them both. No, I'll rip open their chests and cut up their hearts. After I've tortured them. For several days. _

_He's such a bloody bastard. I have refused so many men this entire time I've been traveling for Quidditch, and its only been a few months, yet he needed to escape into that bitch Narcissa. I'm going to get so drunk and screw at least five men on my team tonight. _

_God, I feel like such an idiot. Of course he would do that. Why did we even get married? We were never meant for that kind of life. He always wanted a bitch like Narcissa who could stay home all day and lick his dick whenever the Ministry asked him to give a fraction of the effort I give every day. _

_I hope you aren't mad at me for what I'm saying about your sister. But I don't fucking care, Bellatrix, because she's a bitch and he's a fucking bastard and I hate them both. Whatever, he can have her, I don't care. Fuck our relationship, it's done now. _

_I need to drop off my shit at your place until I figure out where I'm going to go. I'll be coming this weekend and staying for a week. Please don't tell me I can't, you are all I've got. I guess Severus too, but he's dropped off the face of the bloody earth, hasn't he? _

_I can't even muster knowing his last bloody name is also mine. That's the first thing to go._

_-Friday Addams_

_March 15, 1977_

_Friday,_

_How are you? Is Quidditch going alright? I haven't heard from you in a while. _

_I figured I should be the one to tell you this before you found out through someone else—Lucius is engaged to marry Narcissa. I hate them both. I'm so sorry._

_Because I know you're going to ask, Anastasia is fine. She's four now, and is speaking quite well. We have completely legitimate conversations—she can even read parts of the Daily Prophet on her own. Rodolphus is alright. I think this war is a challenge at the Ministry. I hope it doesn't become a problem at home._

_Please write back. This is the third letter I've sent you haven't responded to. I might consider myself worried._

_-Bellatrix Lestrange_


	22. Chapter 22: Something About The Sunshine

She stared out the grand window, shedding light on the dark room. This was her world. It was a life she had cherished, all until that moment.

There were beautifully kept gardens surrounding the house, themed in darker tones. The sky was black at their manor, reflecting a certain darkness present in the atmosphere wherever he was at all times. A never-ending forest surrounded the estate, hiding the house from anyone for miles. It could only be found with direct intent of being there. He certainly had intentions. And now, the Lestrange manor held a woman prisoner within its black walls.

Her tall, thin body, always in a black gown, was clung to by black fabric, isolating her torso and hips and flaring to the floor once it reached her knees. Her arms were never seen not wrapped in silk, and her black curls curled in silky perfection, flowing far down her back. Her bones were as prominent as ever, her naturally skeletal figure somehow enhanced in the darkness of the moment. Her lips still were red as blood, her skin paler than ghosts, her breasts mature and full, her curvaceous body hungry and desired, her eyes black and empty as the souls that walked the earth. She was now trapped in a world she had been in for years, adored for years, but could have no greater desire for than to escape in that moment.

The man who was staring at her, standing in the doorframe of the room, was prepared to create the most miserable escape for her.

***TWELVE HOURS EARLIER***

As the daylight broke the cold, April morning, black piercing eyes opened hazily. They glanced at the gorgeous man beside her, his consciousness still in another world, his arms wrapped around her, comfortably ensconced in the black silk bedding. Carefully, Bellatrix slipped from his grasp and got up from the bed, leaving Rodolphus still with his eyes closed. Bellatrix silently scoffed at her own naked body and grabbed from the ground a long, silk nightgown, lucid and trailing behind her. The clear, black fabric cloaked her entire body, draping her in a delicate covering, pulling together in the front so the gown partially exposed her desirous breasts. Her pale, naked body was hazily visible beneath—the fabric disguised her body just enough that she did not feel as though she was inappropriately dressed before her child, but still sexy enough to make her husband do wild things.

Twirling her hand, a cup of tea appeared, weaving its way between her long pale fingers. Gently grasping the silver cup, its warmth spreading through her hands, Bellatrix walked over to the large black velvet drapes concealing a breathtaking view of the manor grounds. She was tempted to pull them apart, to let the light of the hopeful sun fly in through the glass. But she savored the tempting darkness, the way the air felt in the morning after he had made love to her and she had fallen asleep in his arms. It was something un-replicable, something indescribable. She could not crave it more.

Sipping her tea, which happened to be Earl Grey, she thought of her daughter. Young Anastasia, so intelligent and reserved. Bellatrix schooled her daughter, as her mother had done for her and her sisters, to prepare her for the basic tasks she would need at Hogwarts—reading, writing, arithmetic. But she instructed much more than that—Bellatrix was already coaxing magic out of little Anastasia's mind, her eyes extinguishing a candle flame or moving objects. As soon as she was old enough, Bellatrix was quite sure Rodolphus would teach her Quidditch (not something she, as a mother, was particularly looking forward too, but nevertheless did not want to hinder.) Bellatrix insisted, as her mother had, that Anastasia learn to play the piano. Music had been one of the abuse-free elements of Bellatrix's childhood. She had been quite skilled at playing the instrument, better than both of her sisters, in fact. Glorious sonatas and toccatas flowed from her fingertips with ease, earning only praise and appreciation from her mother, father, and eldest sister. Narcissa had been jealous.

Bellatrix's glance lingered over her husbands' form, still unconscious in bed. Rodolphus was very much the same devilish, attractive man he had been five years ago. His body, toned and perfected, had remained exquisitely in shape, his tan skin even and glowing. His dark hair was short, his face ever impressive, his lips generous, eyebrows thick, and mustache and beard groomed to perfection. All that might have changed in him were his eyes—while they were still the soft brown sincerity they always had been, the sparkling glow was diminished, the bright fire in him pulled back slightly. Yet that fire could still be ignited by the love from his daughter and above all, his wife.

The tea nearly drained, the cup vanished from Bellatrix's hands. In a contemplated yet instinctive motion, she threw aside the drapes, letting sunlight leak in through the window.

"No," Rodolphus moaned from the bed. Bellatrix laughed to herself at her pathetic husband.

"You need to leave in ten minutes," she said, walking from the window and to their grand bathroom. It was quite marvelous—entirely constructed of gray and black marble, a large bath in the corner, a shower parallel to it, a fabulous mirror consuming much of one wall. Glistening candles served as the only light source. A window lay on the wall opposite the mirror. Bellatrix stared at herself, her reckless hair falling down to her lower back, her beautiful figure thin, as it had always been, her height only accentuated with age. She could never truly see herself as beautiful, although Rodolphus could not tell her so enough. Yet the confidence to believe in herself was still something she lacked, something she was certain she could never truly have—something she was positive she would give to her daughter.

Her eyes left the mirror and she flowed back into the master bedroom, watching as her husband stood and rubbed his eyes. His body, completely strong and exposed before her, was mesmerizing. She was tempted to force him back onto the bed and never let him leave, as she always was when she saw him this way, but forced herself to stay controlled by extending a dark fingernail in his direction and clothing his lower body in black trousers.

"You can't even give me one second to make it to my closet?" he said, his brown eyes captivating her black ones as he walked towards her.

She raised a black eyebrow and dismissed his joke, turning away from him and extending a hand towards the bed, letting her magic compose its form.

She was about to walk towards the door, thinking of Anastasia, when his hands slid around her waste from behind her, pulling her towards him. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked seductively, his lips pressing against the pale skin of her neck.

She leaned into his exquisite body, exhaustion flowing over her. "We have a child, my darling," she said kindly, adoring his every touch.

His warmth melded into her, coaxed life into her dark, soulless eyes. Her glossy black curls stroked her bare back as she turned her head, her dark nails reaching up to lift his chin from her shoulder.

"You're going to be late," she said as his lips pressed against hers.

Turning her towards him, he touched his wife in the most affectionate, light way, his hands just gracing her thin body, gently flushing over her flawless flesh.

"Something with mint and lemon," he muttered, continuing to claim her lips with his.

"You know it isn't," she replied in any break from his lips he allowed her.

"Raspberry, then," he said sweetly, his tongue searching her mouth.

She laughed slightly, and he paused for a moment.

"No, wait," he decided quietly, smiling suavely in realization. "Earl Grey."

She raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips brought upwards slightly. She was tempted to pull him back to her, to feel his perfectly toned body with her raking finger nails, to pretend as if the sun never rose and the night could go on for ever.

"You're going to be late, darling," she repeated, choosing to rest her hands on his bare chest longingly.

His hands felt her waist and his lips again pressed against her neck. "I don't have to go at all," he murmured, his lips continuing to pulse against her skin.

"You do," she said firmly, though her eyes drifting down to his tan, muscular, perfectly toned chest regrettably. "Go."

Rodolphus moaned, turning from Bellatrix and walking towards his closet. "How can I say no to the woman I love?"

Bellatrix was as immaculate and incredible as she had been from the first moment he met her. She had only matured, if anything, her body that of a woman in the most glorious way. Her black hair still spiraled down her back in glossy curls, her skin white, pale and flawless. Her lashes still thick and long, eyebrows angled sharply as her cheekbones and features, red lips and shockingly protruding collarbone never ceasing to amaze him. The fascinating feature of her existence—her black eyes—still blinked captivating as ever, dragging in desirous creatures, her soullessness brought into existence with the presence of a loving husband and daughter. She was a different woman now, a woman who had not thought of causing pain for a long time. There was not one desire in her to change anything about her life, to distance herself from anyone, to do anything extraordinary. She had lived through hell, and spending her days in a home was all she wanted.

Her mind still smiling from his love, she quietly walked from the room and flowed down the dark hallway. Candleholders lined the walls, casting a yellow glow in the blackness of the manor. Her bare feet felt the chill of the wooden floor, but she did not mind it in the least. She enjoyed the slight chills ever-coursing through her veins. It did not bring about any misery, which the cold in the Black Mansion surely could.

Long black nails lightly rapped upon a dark oak door. Bellatrix heard the muffled sounds of movement in the concealed room. She saw the brass doorknob twist as a small child appeared before her.

"Good morning, mother," a young voice said.

Bellatrix bent over and lightly grasped her daughter's small, angular chin, lifting her eyes upwards. "Good morning, my dear," she said, love in her eyes.

They did not smile, for smiling was not the emotional expression their love required. Anastasia knew very much that her mother loved her without needing her to hug and kiss her. Likewise, Bellatrix understood the harbored affection Anastasia felt for her—they spent much of their time together, their personalities intertwining complimentarily. But the love that existed was something Bellatrix, despite her lack of physical affection, was determined to create. A family was all she ever wanted, and this was her chance to create for her daughter what had been robbed from her.

Anastasia was as pretty as her mother—raven hair topped her white, glowing, pale flesh, although it was straight, not spiraling, like Bellatrix's. Her features, angular and sharp, elegantly contrasted with her soft brown eyes, much like her father's. Her lips, tinted a subtle pink, were thin and small, as was her physique. But she stood with great posture and strength, commanding a presence and attention with her silence. She wore a simple black dress today, mirroring her mother (not at that moment, however, for Bellatrix was still clad in her revealing silk robe). But Grandmother Lestrange would bring her and abundance of other colored dresses as well—deep reds, dark greens, and rich blues.

"Are you ready to leave?" Bellatrix asked, her hand falling to rest on her knees.

Anastasia nodded. "When will Grandmother be here?"

Bellatrix thought for a moment. "Maybe . . . ten minutes? Or longer, it depends on how long your father takes," Bellatrix ended this thought rolling her eyes.

Anastasia, stiff and poised, replied in her small voice, "Ah, men. You can't live with them, you can't live without them."

Bellatrix smiled slightly at her daughter. "Touché my darling," she said, amused. Anastasia returned her approval with sparkling eyes.

"Come downstairs soon," Bellatrix said, standing up straight again. The tall witch towered over her small young daughter.

"Wait, mother," Anastasia said, looking up at her. "I want to show you something!"

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I practiced all night," Anastasia said, pushing her door open. In the space visible to Bellatrix, she could see across her daughter's bedroom to the large windows consuming almost the entirety of one wall. Covered in dark drapes, the sunlight lay hidden behind.

Anastaisia scrunched up her eyes, turning towards the windows and, gathering her arms, pushed violently towards the wall. In a burst of wind and speed, the curtains flew apart as the glass shattered, cold air gusting in from outside, whipping the drapes apart, light fluttering in violently, hitting Bellatrix's black eyes.

"Ana!" Bellatrix said, bending down, her pale hand lightly resting on her daughter's shoulder. "You are incredible, my love. I couldn't come close to performing something so stunning until I was twice your age. You will be a brighter witch than I ever was."

Anastasia turned and beamed at her mother. "That's not possible," Ana said bashfully. "You are the greatest witch ever. Grandmother says so. So does father, and Aunt Narcissa. And Uncle Lucius, and Aunt Friday, and—"

"Please, my darling," Bellatrix said, holding a finger up to her lips and silencing her daughter. They held a each other's gaze for a moment until Anastasia's brow furrowed.

"But I . . . can't fix it yet," she said, clutching her hands apologetically.

Bellatrix smiled gently and patted her daughter's back reassuringly. "Mothers exist for that very reason," she said quietly. "To do what their brilliant children cannot yet do."

Then, extending a graceful hand, Bellatrix willed the shattered glass to slowly collect back into place as the windows had been. Anastasia watched in fascination as the tinkling shards wove back together and flew in place until the entire window had been re-polished and the drapes stood still, blocking the sunlight from their eyes, but not from their hearts.


	23. Chapter 23: Expectations

Some days, it felt as though his red eyes never truly closed at all. There was no rest in being the Dark Lord, no temporary haven for safe subconscious submergence. His mind was at work every second of every day, a menacing clock of constant thought, ticking away as each second of the war went by. It had been eight years, eight grueling, hard years, and still he fought. Many followers had died, many not trained enough, and still he fought. He faced death more frequently than his own reflection. He was the ruler of a movement, a great gatherer of the purest witches and wizards.

While in his mind, he was loosing the war, he was, in fact, doing quite well. The _Daily Prophet _reported the deaths of thousands, the numbers growing higher by the day, all caused by the work of he and his followers. But there were wizards he still needed to pull of his ultimate successes, minds who were reluctant to join such a bold, ambiguous project. Again, he faced the problem he had faced his whole life—he simply wanted more.

He glanced at the _Daily Prophet_ thrown aside on the small table. The headline read, _7 More Dead At The Hand Of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_. The Dark Lord looked away with disinterest, staring back out at the cold, rainy day, concealed behind the window. He wanted those numbers to increase. Why did seven measly souls matter at all to the Wizarding World? It wasn't as though he was displeased with his followers' good work, but death alone simply was not enough. If death was to compensate for the power he craved, then he wanted hundreds dead.

His thoughts whirled. While his most skilled wizards were still with him, thankfully, many had passed. He needed a way to gain more followers, to find those who were neutrally swayed and pull them into his cause. He needed enough adequate wizards, and he needed them fast. Where could he pool for such a desire? Knocking on every door and forcing an answer surely wouldn't work. He needed a tool of persuasion, something different from magic, power, money, or death. What else could one crave?

His thoughts strayed back to his one year of teaching at Hogwarts. Most of those students would have graduated and gained occupations, living lives, being successes or failures in the magical world. He could still see their young faces eager with the fascination of dark magic and knowledge. How shocked they had been that first class when he displayed the three Unforgivables before them. There had been students who turned away in fear, those who cried with disgust. But there were also those who were delighted by the darkness, by the evil of what magic could do. And he remembered precisely which face had been starry-eyed by his dark soul.

Suddenly, his red eyes glowed with insight. He knew, in that moment, exactly what he needed—a woman.

A woman, if beautiful enough, could seduce any man to his knees, begging to join his cause. A woman could do what he could not. Someone of the opposite sex, he thought, would complete his army. A seductress, an object, but not quite a whore—an incentive.

And suddenly, everything came together in his mind. He knew exactly what woman he needed for such a task, if she was still alive and beautiful as ever. He had, in fact, taught her entire year of students, as well as the lower years following. The children, now adults, must be scattered all over the world. But he could find them. He knew precisely which ones would be of worthy his time, which ones he could count on in battle, which ones would be, to that matter, quite useful.

He drew back the dark fabric concealing his left forearm. Placing the tip of his wand to the ink engraved on his flesh, he envisioned the follower who he wished to appear before him.

Sensing that the jolt of searing pain reached the flesh of the other man, the Dark Lord dropped his arm and held his wand gently, thinking of the woman who he knew would fix everything. What had she been doing with herself for all this time? Did she truly face the prospect of marriage, of a husband? Surely she couldn't be kept busy with just a husband. Surely she craved, from time to time, something more drastic, something more complex, something more invigorating? The thoughts that had circled through her mind for so many years, causing pain and destruction to herself and those around her, were those thoughts still there? Had they vanished? Where had the darkness vacationed to, leaving in her mind a vacancy for pleasant things? What had become of her? Was she so different that when not given a wand and the opportunity, she would not kill as cunningly as she had once before? Was she so different that causing pain could not still be enjoyed? Was she so different that she was not the same woman at all?

His thoughts strayed at the sound of a _crack _rippling through the air. He remained, staring out the window at the gray, rainy day, calling out quietly, before he had to bear hearing a knock at the wooden door, "Come in."

A handsome, slick figure walked into the room. The man, who's confidence usually radiated off of his soul, compressed in the presence of such a wizard. He cowered in fear, his long, blonde hair falling in front of his pale face. Dressed in dark robes, he almost blended into the wall behind him.

"My Lord," the man whispered, "How may I be of service to you?"

The Dark Lord did not turn to him. His stance was pensive and powerful, his hands held gracefully behind his back, long, pale fingers woven amongst themselves, his dark robes covering almost all of his pale skin. "Lucius Malfoy," he said lightly. "Sometimes I forget you were once my student."

Lucius was silent. His posture shifted slightly, his concern clearly existing in the fact that he had not the slightest idea of what to say to his master in reply.

"What happened to the rest of them?" the Dark Lord asked quietly, his eyes not wavering from his intense dissection of the stormy sky.

"My Lord?" Lucius asked quietly.

"Your classmates, the others," the Dark Lord said dismissively. "What has become of them?"

Lucius shifted again in his place near the wall. "I—I believe Severus Snape is living somewhere in Northern England. Most of the blood traitors have joined the opposition, Remus Lupin, Lily and James Potter, Sirius Black—"

"Potter?" the Dark Lord raised an eyebrow lightly. "Married the girl?"

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius confirmed.

The Dark Lord continued, "Black, did you say?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Black . . . his elder brother Regulus, a child with potential . . . and the three sisters."

"Yes, my Lord."

"That was not a question."

His red eyes still trained on the falling droplets of water, he asked, in a light voice, "Do you know what happened to them? The daughters of Cygnus."

Lucius seemed to shrivel before him. His answer was small. "Yes, my Lord."

Impatiently, the Dark Lord remarked, "Do not hesitate to tell."

Shakily, Lucius began, ". . . my wife, she is—"

"The youngest Black daughter?" the Dark Lord cut in cooly, his red eyes never flickered from the image of the cold sky.

"Yes, my Lord," his voice replied stuttering.

"She would be of no use to me," the Dark Lord said passively, his hands casually pulling apart at the thought. "What happened to her sister?"

Lucius's clearly tense posture relaxed slightly as the topic of his wife transitioned to someone else. "The blood traitor? She is being sought-out as we speak, I believe she is part of the Order—"

"No, Lucius," his cold voice cut in. "The other one."

Lucius shifted in his place, his head coming up from being bowed as he attempted to understand the nature of his master's question. "She has been married for the past nine years."

The Dark Lord nodded slightly. "Married," he said, his voice cold and withdrawn. "Children?"

"One, that I am aware of," Lucius replied quietly.

The corners of his lips turned upwards slightly. "Do you know her husband?" the Dark Lord continued to ask.

Lucius nodded. He was silent.

The Dark Lord's slight smile was enhanced by a tired, knowing look, as he glanced at Lucius. "Do I know him?"

Again, Lucius tentatively nodded, finally speaking, "Rodolphus Lestrange."

"Lestrange?" the Dark Lord turned to Lucius. "As in, his son?"

Lucius bowed his head under the speculation of his master's eyes. "Indeed, Master."

The Dark Lord turned back to the rain-covered window, his mind whirling. The son of one of his closest friends in school, he had never met Rodolphus, but knew of him through the words of his father. One of his first followers and truest friends, the boy's father had passed many years back, leaving what the Dark Lord knew to be an incredible fortune to his son. And this Rodolphus, he must be the eldest son. What with a wife, a child, a career, money, success in all things—such a man was too good to be true. Such a man the Dark Lord did not commonly have much keen interest in. It was his belief that through great pain could only the finest souls emerge, and Rodolphus did not seem the kind of boy to have had real challenge in his life. He married Bellatrix, for God's sake, and had a child with her—he must be elated with pure joy. What more reason to destroy his happiness?

Bellatrix. His eyes narrowed hungrily at the very thought of her. What perfection—an elusive darkness existed within her, reflected on her outer beauty, the ingenious skill of a witch far beyond her years. Her features were truly the most exquisite he had ever lay eyes upon. There was something incredible in the absolute quintessence of her angular being, her sharp contrasts; black eyes, white skin, red lips. And she was intelligent, consumed with a passion for pain, had faced great darkness at such a young age and overcome it expertly. And this was her at eighteen—what must she be like now, at twenty-eight?

He seemed to break from his ever-present powerful energy, asking a question that elicited a very human response from Lucius. "In your . . . professional opinion, Lucius," the Dark Lord hissed, "Is she still as beautiful?"

Lucius looked up at this question. He often cowered away from the fearful, red eyes, but something very human had been presented to Lucius in this moment and he replied, looking as honestly as he could into his master's gaze, "If anything, my Lord, she has only grown more so."

The Dark Lord's eyes glowed a slightly deeper shade of red. He almost licked his lips at the thought of an even more desirous woman, a more perfect tool for himself.

"Bring me to her," he said, hungrily. "I will judge this for myself."

Lucius bowed his head again, his eyes falling to the floor. "As you wish, my Lord," his voice spoke, quiet in desolate servitude.

Night fell upon the cool manor. The dark wood walls and floors blended together, as if still a part of the blackness outside, like one manifestation of its power in time. Whispering wind caressed the magnificent house, telling of the true darkness that was to come, a darkness from within the walls. The sky, black as pitch, the stars desperately screaming to break through an unforeseen darkness, wrapped the manor in a kind of unescapable shroud. There was not a thing to be done about it. All that needed to pass would come in a matter of moments. The inhabitants knew nothing of this life-changing experience, only of the blissful love they still felt for one another, a love that would, indeed, vanish without a trace.

It was 11:54. Eyes as ominous as the sky outside stared down the grandfather clock, the ticking second hand. Equally black fingernails gripped the armchair fiercely, raven, glossy curls tumbled perfectly down her thin back, clothed in twilight silk fabric, which clung to every perfected element of her being, flaring out at her waist and falling past her toes to the floor, covering her flawless, pale flesh. Agony consumed her, waiting for him to return home. She never knew what to expect. Her red, full lips were taught in bitter tension, her thick, voluminous eyelashes cloaking ever-tired eyes, her black, poised, perfectly-sculpted eyebrows perched tiredly above them. Her poignant, sunken-in features were enhanced in the candle-lit darkness, showcasing the beautiful, death-like element of her skeletal being. The perfect body, the perfect woman. Yet she sat, on that evening, alone.

Work could keep him away from her for hours, days, even. Sometimes he came home at 10:00, or midnight, or 3:00 in the morning, or even 3:00 in the afternoon the preceding day. She could never predict such, for it was a way of life, being married to a man of his stature. His job, in times of war, could leave her alone for hours upon end, call him away to distant places. He was a highly-ranked official of the Ministry—it was precisely what they paid him for.

Anastasia had been sent to sleep hours ago, and must have been dreaming blissfully by then about the magical adventures her grandmother had taken her on that day. Bellatrix had only half-listened to the conversation at dinner, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of her husband. She knew his job ended officially at 4:00 in the afternoon, so whenever he was not home by 5:00, it was a matter of obligations concerning the War, she was sure. She was not certain of how comfortable she truly was with the idea of him spending hours away from home. The cause was worthwhile, it was true, but she didn't even know what it was he spent his time doing. Surely he wouldn't do anything to hurt himself, or her, or Anastasia. Surely he was safe. Surely . . .

The front door slammed. Bellatrix sat upright, her mind coming back to reality. _That must be him,_ she thought to herself. She stood up from her chair in the library and began walking to the front doors. But as she listened, she heard two sets of voices, not one. Speeding through the hallways, she attempted to decipher the second person's identity, unsure of who it was. They spoke in hushed tones, she could only hear echoes of distorted speech.

"Bellatrix?" she finally heard the familiar, deep voice of her husband call out. Emerging from one of many doorways leading to the main hallway, Bellatrix's heels clicked quietly as she walked to the front door. Coming from around a staircase, she finally saw her husband—and the man standing beside him.

"Bellatrix," Lucius Malfoy said quietly. She stared at the two men before her, both clothed in dark robes and black cloaks, dropping their conversation as they turned to her. Silently, they looked at one another.

"What is going on?" she said almost confrontationally after another moment of silence.

Rodolphus walked over to his wife and placed a quick kiss on her lips. "Bellatrix," he said quietly, his soft brown eyes absorbed in her sharp black ones. "You need to go with Lucius."

"Why?"

Rodolphus closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, his features appearing worn in the candlelight from the hallway. "We can't . . ."

"We need to leave now," Lucius said darkly, his eyes darting nervously from Bellatrix to Rodolphus.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at Lucius, who looked just as exhausted and broken as her husband. She still did not trust the weasel of a man. "Don't lie to me—"

"Do you think I want to?" Lucius snapped back quietly. He began walking toward the door, pulling his cloak tighter around himself.

"Ow!" he cried suddenly, doubling over from some shock.

"What? What is it?" Rodolphus asked nervously.

Lucius stood upright again and drew back his black sleeve, revealing a skull and snake printed in black ink on his arm. The tattoo glowed a golden color before fading back to black. Rodolphus stared wide-eyed at the blonde-haired man. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed.

Lucius breathed heavily. "He's coming—"

"Who?" Bellatrix asked franticly, desperate to understand something that both her husband and Lucius seemed knew about, but she was blind to. "Who is coming?"

"The Dark Lord," Lucius said quietly. "He's coming."

The three of them were silent for a moment, still in the fear of what Lucius had just said. Bellatrix stared at Lucius, watching his eyes travel to some faraway land of fear and shame as she felt her husband's hold on her close tighter and tighter around her.

She broke the silence at last, her red lips parting to ask, "What does he want?"

"You don't understand," Lucius said, his nervous eyes finally meeting Bellatrix's with a kind of urgency. "But you will when you see him. I can't explain it."

"Yes, you can," Bellatrix said, prying herself from Rodolphus and walking over to her former friend, her brother-in-law. "What would I not understand?"

"Anything, Bellatrix," Lucius said painfully, his eyes lost in some world of pain she could not see, tears coming to his eyes, "It makes no sense—"

"What can we do now?" Rodolphus asked desperately from behind her.

"He knows your here," Lucius said darkly, looking dangerously into Bellatrix's black eyes. "You can't leave. You missed your chance."

Bellatrix wanted to scream. "My God, Lucius, if you've put my child or my husband in danger—"

"It's too late for that now," Lucius said weakly, his eyes falling back into the world of despair. "The moment he sees you . . . it's over."

Bellatrix grabbed his wrist painfully, digging her nails into his flesh ferociously. "Lucius, you aren't giving me any answers—"

"I can't," Lucius said, his voice breaking, as tears slipped down his face, his eyes still not meeting Bellatrix's. "I'm sorry. I wish it wasn't me."

"Lucius—"

Her words were broken by a sudden knock on the door. The three of them froze in place in the entrance hall, each lost in a different emotion. She didn't know what to do. What could she do? What was going on? The Dark Lord . . . _the_ Dark Lord . . . wanted her? She did not understand, why couldn't Lucius tell her, why couldn't Rodolphus tell her?

Her black eyes turned back to her husband's brown ones. Rodolphus was studying her with a kind of nervous unawareness. He seemed just as confused as Bellatrix herself, yet just as scared as the unhinged blonde wizard before them. Whatever they were braced for next, Rodolphus's eyes seemed to say to his wife, they would face it together and they would survive.

"He's here."


	24. Chapter 24: Why Are You Crying?

"Rodolphus, take her to the furthest room in the house, it will buy you little time," Lucius exhaled in a breathy reply, wiping the tears from his face and standing up straight, a serious expression overcoming his disparity. "Tell her exactly what I told you, and do it fast."

Bellatrix tried to see back into the blue eyes of the man who had just displayed the ultimate weakness of crying before her, but Lucius hid himself from her now. She was almost mad, but couldn't help the pity she felt for his obvious brokenness. What a man like the Dark Lord could do to Lucius, she was surprised. Lucius seemed the epitome of arrogance and self-assurance. Watching him fold was like watching a boulder crack. Why was he crying?

"And Rodolphus," Lucius said quietly as the dark-haired man turned to pull his wife with him through the house. "Leave her and go to your child, and—"

Another loud knock resonated through the house, the front door reverberating in front of them. Rodolphus held his wife's hand strongly as they walked swiftly with her through the halls, bolting up a flight of steps, winding through many long corridors in the house. The dark wood walls seemed to blend together before Bellatrix. She had never felt so lost in her home before, but the words to ask questions seemed to slip from her as she thought nervously of Anastasia, asleep in a room that felt so far away. Why weren't they going to her now, why weren't they being parents and protecting their daughter?

"Rodolphus—"

"Shh," he cut her off, his words crisp and strong. Slamming open the library door and bolting inside, Rodolphus let go of his wife, using nonverbal magic to conjure flames in all the candles lining the walls, illuminating rows and rows of bookcases filled with books.

"Bellatrix," he said in a quiet voice, turning back to her. His brown eyes were filled with fear, though his voice was confident and assured. "Lucius has been working for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named for the past year. He and other followers like him, the Death Eaters, have been trying to recruit more Ministry officials for the War. I have evaded them up to this point. But Lucius said," Rodolphus's voice broke off. He grasped Bellatrix's pale hands again, his eyes full of something deeper than fear—remorse.

"What did he say?" she asked gently, though her black eyes spoke of an untold urgency.

Rodolphus swallowed, sweat forming under his brow. "Lucius says that he wants you," he said quietly. "He needs you for something."

"What are you talking about?" Bellatrix said, her voice slightly louder. "How long have you known about this?"

"An hour!" Rodolphus exclaimed, his grip on her hands growing tighter. "He found me as I was leaving and told me all of this, and that the Dark Lord was to come to our home tonight—"

"Stop," Bellatrix said quietly, her black eyes cutting through Rodolphus's nervous ones. "Go to Anastasia, that's what Lucius said to—"

Suddenly, they were both silent. The sound of quiet footsteps approaching echoed through the hallway.

Still clutching Rodolphus's strong, calloused hands, Bellatrix turned her eyes from his and stared out the grand window in the library, which shed a kind of light on the dark room. This was her world. It was a life she had cherished, all until that moment.

Her eyes studied the beautifully kept gardens surrounding the house, themed in darker tones. The night sky was black, reflecting a certain darkness present in the atmosphere wherever he was at all times. A never-ending forest surrounded the estate, hiding the house from anyone for miles. It could only be found with direct intent of being there. He certainly had intentions.

Her bones were as prominent as ever, her naturally skeletal figure somehow enhanced in the dark moment. Her scared eyes were as black and empty as the souls that walked the earth. She was now trapped in a world she had been in for years, adored for years, but could have no greater desire than to escape in that moment.

A man emerged in the doorframe of the room. He stared at her, his red eyes glowing with a dark delight. How prepared he was to create the most miserable escape for her.

"Miss Black."

Her heart stopped.

Was it him? _Him?_ Dare she look? She had no choice. Her black eyes turned and faced the man who her heart belonged to, had always been with, and would never stray from.

Red eyes met black ones. Clothed in flowing, black silk robes, his height and body were powerfully impressive. He had grown in strength, his fit body much stronger and more aggressive than before. His pale skin glowed only more so, as if he had not even neared the sun for the past ten years. His dark hair was almost black, still well-kemp, short and clean. His face was clean-shaven, his impressive, commanding features aged, yet mesmerizing. The stress that must plague him was apparent in his aura, although not an impact on his physical appearance. Not just power, but darkness radiated from his soul. Bellatrix could feel it in her bones. Yet the most shocking transformation was his eyes. What used to be exhilarating, dark brown jewels were now a deep shade of blood-red, commanding, demanding. There was a humanness eliminated from his existence—the eyes, the windows of the soul, could not be seen for what they were any longer. All emotion was blocked from human sight. He could only see pain, fury, and sadistic pleasure. It was terrifying, but Bellatrix found it captivating—just as exhilarating, if not more, than had been ten years ago.

It was him. Tom Riddle.

"Forgive me," his cool voice rippled in her frozen consciousness, the shock too present for her to absorb thoroughly. "Madame Lestrange."

A sharp, but silent intake of breath was her only response. She could not tear her black eyes from his red ones. So many words they could speak without any sound. Her hands slowly released from Rodolphus's. Bellatrix stood, in her beauty and darkness, completely confused and shocked, a thousand emotions vying for her attention at once.

"And you must be Rodolphus," he continued, his red eyes moving to the pair of brown ones. Rodolphus was more curious of the obvious past relationship between her wife and this stranger rather than who the man actually was.

"How may we be of service to you?" Bellatrix heard Rodolphus say calmly, his strong, deep voice providing for the confidence she clearly lacked.

"As I am sure you are aware of," the Dark Lord's silky voice began as he further stepped into the room, "The war has entered its eighth year. It is clear that I have the upper hand. But what I want now is the assistance of men who can create a thriving world far after I have won. I want the support of the purest and most intelligent wizard bloodlines. And it is with your devotion that I will obtain what I desire."

He paused in his speech. His sickly pale skin seemed to radiate passionately. Bellatrix could barely keep from letting tears fall from her eyes. There was too much to process in that moment, she couldn't comprehend it all . . .

"My Lord," Rodolphus's voice began, "I am prepared to do whatever it takes to bring you success in all things—"

"This I know," his voice cut in sharply. His red eyes turned back to Bellatrix's fantastic form, her captivating black eyes. "Are you?"

Bellatrix froze. It was as if she was a student again, caught in his breathtaking aura, as he proposed a course in dark magical studies to her. She reeled with nerves, shocked at the task he had at hand for her. She felt as though she had been blinded as such a young girl. When a student, it was as if Hogwarts equalled the playing field that separated them, making both their beauty and intelligence matched. But years had gone by—she had been weakened by a husband and child, and he grew to become the darkest wizard of all time. He had never been at her level—he only deceived her so. She could not dare come close to his intensity, his power. Her eyes, black depths of the sea, were not as alive as they had once been. The pain he had caused her had taken its tole. She was wary. What did he want from her that no other wizard could provide? Was it her body? Did he plan to use her beauty for his own pleasure? What were the consequences of saying yes to something she did not understand? What if she disappointed him? She read how the _Daily Prophet_ described his followers. There would be nothing to hold him back from torturing her into oblivion—from hurting family—from touching Anastasia. What if he hurt her daughter? How could she live with herself?

Her black eyes fell to the floor in silent dismay. She could not say.

She felt the energy change around her—Rodolphus grew stiff and tense, while the Dark Lord both grew angrier and amused.

"Rodolphus," his cool voice said finally, his red eyes focused on brown ones. "Lucius is still in the front hallway. Tell him to bring me what I asked for."

Rodolphus looked at his wife hesitantly. He had no idea what the Dark Lord wanted her for, but if such a man had taken his time to seek her out and trace her to their home, surely it was something the Dark Lord would not be dissuaded from doing. After throwing a concerned glance at his wife, who still did not look up, he nodded and slipped from the room. The door creaked closed behind him.

"Bella," the Dark Lord said, his commanding voice sending shivers down her spine. "Speak."

Her red lips parted slightly, her black eyes flickering upwards to stare levelly at his black robes. "What should I say?"

"You know the words I want to hear," he said quietly. "They are the same words you want to say."

Her voice almost broke, but still she maintained a clear tone. "I can't begin to describe what I want to say."

His cool voice replied, "You just did."

Her black eyes flickered upwards to meet his red ones again. He was much closer than he was only moments ago. She could feel the chill of his body, even inches away from him. His pale skin was tired and worn, but still flawless and glowing. His eyes were only more enthralling.

"What do you want from me?" she asked desperately.

His lips moved slightly, a dark eyebrow raising in satisfaction. "Many things, Bella. Much more than you are prepared to give. But that does not make you unable."

Her black eyes fell to his neck, pale and exposed in the glowing candlelight. Her voice, unconfident but firm, replied, "What can I do that another woman cannot?"

She sensed his body move even closer to hers. Her heart rate quickened at how close he was. "You know precisely what you are capable of. I have seen it."

They were silent for a moment. It felt very much like the night she had gone to his classroom, seeking guidance for something she could not explain—and he had taught her expertly. Within moments that evening, their love had come forth plainly and their desire for one became another apparent. But she had been so naive to the ignorance she possessed. Now she felt fear.

But this evening, like another so many years ago, he wanted to entertain her passion. His cold mouth crept gently against hers, and she was immersed in his glory once again. It was a maturity she had not felt in years. Each movement of his head, the natural pulse of his lips—she breathed it all in. Her eyes fluttered closed, sensing each feeling surreally. His hands, pleasurable entities of their own accord, found their place on her body again, one soaking in her glossy curls, another pulling at her hips out of hungry desire. Her black nails lightly scraped at his neck, as if lovingly rewarding his touch. He was much thinner than Rodolphus, in an almost ghostly manner. She could feel his bones poke through his thin flesh, much as her own did. She was taller now—she did not have to reach up to him as she once did. It was astonishing how the nerves and the fear could still pour out of her at his touch. She felt herself melt into him, his lips tracing down her neck and collarbone as she left her lips parted, lightly gasping for breath and silently moaning.

"Something is different, Bella," he hissed in her ear, his lips pausing from their rediscovery of her body. "You have changed."

His displeasure was a knife in her heart. What had she done wrong? Nothing had changed! What if it had? What had she done?

"You are weak, Bella," he said quietly, his words crashing down in her mind. "You have let others weaken you."

"I . . ."

"I know you do not reciprocate the love Rodolphus harbors for you. I do not require him for my service, as I am sure you knew from the moment I arrived. That is not my concern. But there is another."

She clenched her jaw, felt her insides shake. Could she even deny that she abandoned all thoughts of Rodolphus when his red eyes were on her?

Did he know about . . .

"Do you remember what I told you ten years ago, when you could not cast the Cruciatus curse?" his voice trickled into the whirlwind of emotion in her mind. "That there is no evil in death, nor is there any good. Good and evil do not exist. That there is only power, and those too weak to seek it. Right now, Bella, you are too weak."

She felt his body moving around her, his hands sliding over her thin body. She felt as though she would lose consciousness any moment.

"You know what power you hold, Bella, the anger and fury that courses through your veins. You know you have it. You can have it again. You can have it with me."

His breath beat against her curls, his lips nearing her ear form behind her. She felt herself concentrating on not shaking in his arms.

"And if you want to return to the greatness I know you possess, you must do the one thing that will place you above all others, that will show me just how strong you are. You must dispose of what it is that you have come to love."

Her throat choked up, the air evaporating from the library. The dust collected on the piles of books seemed to be all she could muster up in her lungs. His long fingers played over her breasts. She knew precisely to whom he was referring.

"That's right, my dear," he said quietly. "The only thing in this world that consumes your soul more than I is your daughter. I want you to kill her. For me."

Bellatrix felt herself gasp. Time seemed to stop. She could not wrap her mind around what he was asking of her. How could he walk into her life again at midnight, ten years later, and expect her to do the unthinkable for him?

There was a knock on the door. Still standing behind her, his hands moved from her body and extended towards the door, which swung open upon his magical command. Standing in the doorway were two tall figures, one blonde, one dark haired. In front of them was a smaller one, less than half their height. Bellatrix's eyes fell longingly to the small person. Her heart iced over. She could not restrain the tears that had formed in her eyes any longer.

"And who is this," his slippery voice asked gently. It was not a question.

"Our daughter, my Lord," Rodolphus's rough voice responded.

"What is your name, child?" he asked darkly.

A small voice replied, "Anastasia Lestrange." Bellatrix bit down on her lip, her hand flying over her mouth to prevent herself from crying out loud.

"Mother, what is—"

"Shh," Rodolphus's voice cut in sharply.

The child was still and silent before the Dark Lord. Her huge brown eyes stared uncertainly into her mother's pained black ones. Bellatrix could not speak.

"You look so much like Bella, Anastasia," his voice crept silkily along to the small girl. "But your eyes. They are not of the same darkness that lives in your mother."

Anastasia stared confidently at the man looming over her mother, who's beauty was dissolving right before her. She had a million questions, but she knew that this was not the time to ask them.

"I want it done by midnight on Friday," his cold voice whispered in Bellatrix's ear, inaudible to anyone else in the room. The hiss of each syllable rang in her mind, berating her thoughts. "And if you don't, then you can allow me the pleasure of the task. But I'll do it my way. And it won't be painless."

With that, the Dark Lord disapparated from the Lestrange manor, leaving in a flourish of black fabric and dark magic. Everyone in the room stood motionless. Lucius stared sadly at Bellatrix, his gaze again filled with emotion at the absence of his master. Rodolphus looked at her with no words to express the curiosity, disparity, and confusion he felt. Moreover, he wanted to destroy the Dark Lord, who dared cause Bellatrix this much pain. He had never, not in their nine years of marriage, ever seen her in such a state. Should he rush to Bellatrix and ask her to tell him exactly what had been said and done while he had left, finding Lucius, who told him to get Anastasia from her room and bring her to the Dark Lord? What was the right thing to do?

And why was he allowed to call her "Bella?"

Anastasia stood in a small black gown, awakened from her sleep only moments ago to a sight she had never seen before—her mother crying. Who was the man with the fire in his eyes? What had he done to her mother? How did he know who she was? Why were the comforting, warm black eyes of her mother now staring at her with an emotion she had never seen before?

"Mother," she finally asked. "Why are you crying?"


	25. Chapter 25: The Last Midnight

Dark clouds filled the sky. The wind, tearing at the trees like a knife, sliced up everything it touched and made a broken man's hands shake from the cold. The chill and the blackness served no means of comfort to him, gave no assurance that life wouldn't just be stopped there and then by the darkness, that he wouldn't be killed, that the ground wouldn't turn to dust and disintegrate before his feet. If only the world could just end—no more misery and pain. That would solve every single problem in this life.

No. The problems would have never been solved—merely paused.

A long strand of blonde hair brushed over his eyes, the wind carrying it in front of him. He pushed it aside, pressing on to the small, poor house in a crowd of others which lay only a few streets away. Swiftly, the _crack_ of his magical disapparation still ringing in the air, he made his way across the empty streets to the furthest little cottage in the corner of the world. It radiated loneliness but also gave an air of comfort, the thin windows seeping with warm lights from behind frail curtains. His blue eyes cast this aside, seriousness filling his face. As he approached, he wondered how he might begin. There was no easy way to describe this situation.

His bony knuckles rapped on the small door three times. Three felt like an appropriate number—the man couldn't _not_ hear three knocks on his door, but one or two he could miss, although if he wasn't in the front part of the house he may have missed it, but if he wasn't home at all—

The door creaked open. An aged, much thinner, familiar face stood before him. His black hair was as greasy and long as it had always been. His eyes beat into his blue ones with such presence. His lips resembled a smile.

"Do come in," Severus Snape's words slipped out of his mouth and into Lucius Malfoy's ear.

The little house was un-crowded and plain. Lucius observed a small fireplace, a few chairs, a table—nothing extravagant, yet the warmth he felt in Severus's home was something he hadn't sensed in years. Severus must have been unaffected by the changing times . . . by the Dark Lord.

"How are you, Severus?" Lucius asked, turning to look at his much-matured friend as the door closed.

Severus crossed to the fireplace, where with a gesture of his hand, flames appeared. "Not nearly as tired as you."

"I am afraid I mustn't disguise my reason for coming," Lucius said, sitting with Severus in two chairs across from the fire. "I need your help."

Severus looked at him simply, adjusting his position in the chair, his black clothing smothering the thin wood. "What could a poor man like me do for a rich Ministry official?"

"Enough," Lucius intensified his stare at Severus. "Not for me. For another."

Severus watched Lucius for a moment. A certain degree of pain seemed to be glazed over in Lucius's pearly blue eyes, as if he was screaming for help, but when a hand of assistance was extended, he pulled back, afraid of human touch. Severus was quite unsure of what Lucius had been through in the past four years, but whatever it was, it had destroyed him from the inside out. His face looked thinner, his skin stretched, not in a comforting way which age can have an affect on a person, but in the horrifying, terrible way that communicates a great deal of distress.

Lucius looked into the flames. "The Dark Lord, the one who's the cause of this war . . . it's Riddle."

Uncertainty claimed his face. "Riddle, as in Professor Riddle? Tom Riddle?"

"Yes," Lucius replied quietly. "And Severus, if I asked you to think of one person who Professor Riddle would wanted to seek out and exploit for his army and his sexual pleasure, which one of our peers from Hogwarts comes to mind?"

Severus's eyes hardened at the thought of her. He had revisited these memories many times, but each time, he fantasized cutting apart his skin until he could only feel excruciating pain, in which case the memories would be gone. He could feel her silky, black curls slipping through his fingers now, taste the air around her, her red smile a rose on her pale skin, and it made him cringe.

"I'm sure she's happy serving him," Severus said harshly.

"You are so consumed with bitterness, Severus," Lucius said darkly, his blue eyes slashing Severus's aloof expression. "She has a daughter, Severus."

The word hit him like a brick wall. He almost felt tears well up, but fought them down and clenched his fists. "So?" he replied as unemotionally as he could manage.

"The Dark Lord thinks the child will hinder her commitment to him," Lucius said as calmly as he could manage to the man he had hoped would give a damn, "And is forcing Bellatrix to kill her own daughter, for his entertainment."

Severus stood up. "What are you speaking of?" he yelled, crossing the room in fury, "What is this, these stories you bring to me, in my house?" Severus kicked a chair the the corner, which hit the wall with a _bang_. "I want to know nothing of this! I don't want any part of it! I don't care! She, nor her child, nor Professor Riddle, the Dark Lord . . ." he paused, the words feeling insecure on his tongue. "Do not say anything else. I cannot help you."

"Stop this, Severus," said Lucius, standing up. "I do not particularly care how you feel about Bellatrix at all. I don't care that you loved her, that she couldn't reciprocate such feelings, that she found pleasure in a man you despise, that you didn't know she had a child, that you live your life alone. Honestly, I don't care what happens to her. But I don't think it's fair that because of her mistakes, a child must die. I don't think this world deserves that pain. And I think you agree with me."

"I don't!" Severus screamed, "I don't agree, Lucius, I don't care! Why would you bring this to me, Lucius? What did you expect me to do?"

"You loved her once," Lucius said, his voice rising in volume. "Why do you hate her?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Severus snapped back, his words directed at the curtains.

"She loves you," Lucius said quietly.

They were frozen. The air between them heaved a great sigh, the dust falling to the floor and collecting in little piles, even though Severus seemed to have lost his ability to breathe.

"You are blinded by jealousy," Lucius continued, "But in the process, you were filled with resentment. You couldn't see that she loved you more than she loved herself. She wanted your presence there to talk to, your eyes to comfort her, and she wanted to do the same for you. But you shut her out. Love does not have to be physical, and quite frankly, I know you never stopped feeling the way you did for Lily. The emotion that you harbor for Lily, you blamed Bellatrix for not feeling when even you didn't have it to give to her. You forced yourself to love her to please her. But you didn't have to. Bellatrix wouldn't have cared either way."

"You don't know anything," Severus said quietly. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" Lucius said quietly. "Cast your patronus."

Severus spun around, his eyes glaring. "No."

Lucius laughed lightly. "Now I know I'm right."

"No!" Severus said, pleading. "No, Lucius, you cannot know. She was everything to me . . ."

"Then why did you let her leave?" Lucius asked.

"What could I have given her that she doesn't already have from everyone else?" Severus said, weakly.

"You harbor a pain as close to hers as anyone," Lucius said sincerely. "You understand what being alone is. She is terribly alone. Rodolphus, he is a friend to her, though he loves her more than I have ever seen anyone love someone. And the Dark Lord, she is mesmerized by him, but to her, she fills the place of her father. She cannot truly love him. And I, all I am is a rich Ministry official for her to yell at," he chuckled lightly. "The only thing in this world she truly loves more than the Dark Lord is the very thing she is about to kill. The Dark Lord knows this . . ." Lucius's eyes grew cold, dropping to the floor. His voice echoing darkly, "He knows this about every one of his servants."

Severus watched Lucius fall apart in front of him. And then he knew.

"Friday."

Lucius fell back into his seat, his body shaking. He took on a different persona, his hands gripping the arms of the chair desperately as he clung to the name Severus just uttered. "Friday," Lucius repeated. "I couldn't . . . I couldn't . . . save her."

The pale face became soaked with salty tears. Severus walked back to the fireplace and sat in the chair opposite Lucius, letting his friend cry as the embers disintegrated, the late day turning to night.

"Narcissa," Severus said quietly. "That was why you married her. Because you had to."

Lucius swiped his hands across his face. "I didn't have to," Lucius tear-stained voice croaked. "But I needed to have someone, so he wouldn't think I was weak . . . so he wouldn't win . . ."

"Lucius, look at yourself," Severus said after a moment. "He won."

Lucius looked up at Severus, his eyes filled with fire and pain. "I know," he said, his voice rumbling from a dark place within. "And I know there is nothing I could do . . . there is nothing I could ever do. And no matter what magic I use, no matter how hard I try, he would still know whether or not Bellatrix killed her, and if she didn't, he would kill them all."

"Why are you here, Lucius?" Severus asked finally.

Lucius bit down on his lower lip as more tears sprung from his eyes. His blonde hair fell in front of his face and stuck to his damp skin. His lips parted, and Severus could see a small drop of blood emerging from where Lucius's teeth had bitten his lip. His empty voice filled the room with misery.

"To ask you to join the Death Eaters."

Across the sky, deep within the dark clouds of another silent home, a woman sat in a grand chair beside a cold window, moonlight illuminating her pale face. Her husband was outside the door, told by his wife to leave her alone as she did the most terrifying thing she had ever done and would ever do in her life. The doors of the broken room creaked open, and the presence of youth electrified the room.

"Mother!" cried a young voice, breaking through the woman's empty mind. "I missed you."

"Anastasia, come here," her cold voice cut through the air. "Let me tell you a story."

A tiny being draped in black fabric climbed eagerly onto the thin, bony lap of a pale woman. Their midnight silk dresses slipped against each other until the child was positioned as comfortably as she could be, her wide, brown eyes staring eagerly up at a distant, black void.

"Once upon a time, there was a little girl," chapped lips parted to let pained words slip out. "She had two sisters and a mother and a father. Her father loved her very much. Too much, in fact. He loved her in a way he wasn't supposed to love her, a way that was bad. He loved her like he loved his wife."

Dark light poured into the room behind curtains. It was Friday, and it was almost midnight, but it seemed brighter than ever.

"And his wife noticed how much attention the father gave to the little girl and grew very jealous of her. So she did terrible things to her. The little girl's sisters were jealous of her, too, for their father did not love them as much as they loved her. So they never told anyone about what their mother, or their father, did to their older sister."

The library walls seemed to close in tighter with each word she spoke.

"One day, when the girl turned eleven, she received a letter telling her she was to go to a magical school. She got to live there every day of the year, except for during the summer. For fall, winter, and spring, the girl could escape her father's strange love, her mother's abuse, and her sister's silence."

The great arm chair housing the two witches' bodies did not creak under their weight. Both were ghastly thin.

"That must have been nice for the girl," Anastasia added.

"Yes," she breathed in response. "It was . . .

"The girl met many people there. She became friends with a few other witches and wizards who, like her, had troubled families. And she became very good at magic. All of her teachers in all of her classes praised her for her ability. And as she grew up, she was told more and more of how beautiful she was."

Black curls from different heads wove together.

"There were many boys who wanted the girl's attention. They would find ways to get her alone so she had no choice but to acknowledge them. Many of them were childish, greedy, and selfish. But when the girl was in her fifth year at the school, she met a nice boy, an older boy, who was very much in love with her. That boy graduated at the end of the year, but she wouldn't forget him."

Tiny, pale fingers reached up and wrapped around her stiff neck.

"When it was the girl's last year of school, a new teacher came. He was very handsome and very good at magic. He noticed the girl, and he gave her his attention. He taught her many things, many dark and powerful things. He disciplined her and praised her, and she fell in love with him."

"Did he love her, too?"

"No, darling. He admired her, but he never loved her.

"The girl was foolish and naive, though, because young girls like her were not allowed to have such feelings for their teachers. So the teacher left the school, and the girl never saw him again."

The child squirmed in her spot. "But if she loved him, isn't it okay?"

"To some people it would be," she replied distantly. "But not to the headmaster of the school."

"Does she marry the teacher?"

"No, sweetheart. That day never came."

She could sense his magic apparatus onto the grounds and took a sharp intake of breath, the hold she had around Anastasia growing tighter. It was only a matter of minutes. Vomit rose to her mouth but she forced it back down her throat.

"The girl grew up and became a woman. She graduated from the school. Her parents arranged for her to marry a very wealthy, old man. But the woman did not like him, and refused to marry. It just so happened that in her angry state, she stumbled upon the very nice boy she had met in her fifth year at school. Now he was grown up and still very handsome. He fell in love with her again and begged her to marry him. The woman, so thankful to escape her parent's arranged marriage, ran away with the boy. She lived in a very big house and could do whatever she wanted."

"Like me?"

"Yes, dear. Like you."

"What happened to her next?"

"The woman and her husband had a child, a little girl. The woman was so happy, and loved her little girl very much. But then, things became very complicated. Because the teacher who the girl had loved found her again."

"Oh no."

The clock ticked. 11:58.

"Indeed. He had become an even more powerful wizard, the most powerful wizard of all time. And he asked her to do a terrible, terrible thing for him. The woman was devastated. She loved both the wizard and the very thing he wanted her to destroy. But she was weak. She couldn't save herself, nor the thing she had to kill. The wizard warned her that if she didn't destroy it, he would cause her and everyone she loved a great deal of pain."

"What did the woman do?"

"That is where the story ends," her voice was just above a whisper. "The woman is still making her choice."

11:59.

"_Still_? If it's so hard for her to choose, why doesn't she just run away?"

"The wizard is very powerful. He would be able to find her wherever she went."

"Why would she love him if he didn't love her?"

Light footsteps echoed throughout the house. He was coming up the steps.

She wrapped her arms even tighter around Anastasia, clinging to her baby as hard as she could. "Love is a powerful thing. It can be wonderful and terrible. For this girl, love had always been, and would always be, a terrible, terrible thing."

He was walking down the hallway.

"But I love you, mother," the small voice said into her empty, bony chest.

At last, she allowed tears to form in her eyes. "I know, Anastasia," she whispered into the curls on top of the child's small black head. "But love is a terrible thing. And it must be destroyed."

Through her fingers, green magic flowed. It encompassed the body of the small girl, covering every inch of her, making her glow with dark light. It swallowed her soul and her life. Bellatrix could still feel a faint heartbeat against the black fabric of her dress and sense the small pressure her tiny hands had against the back of her neck.

"I love you," she whispered, tears and curls touching her lips.

12:00.

Bellatrix let go. The green light disappeared. Anastasia's eyes drooped closed, her arms falling off of her mother's shoulders and down beside her. The little pressure disappeared and the heartbeat was silent. The weight of her small head fell dead against Bellatrix's shoulder.

From the left side of her, Bellatrix heard the library door creak open. The room grew cold and dark. He stood, staring at the woman and the corpse. He smiled.

"Miss Black," smooth syllables swam across the air, circling in her ears. "You have done well."

The weight of the body vanished before her. She stood up suddenly, staring in the direction of the wand pointed at her. She couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes. "What did you do with her?"

"You aren't questioning me already," he asked darkly. He approached her, his tall form towering over her.

"Never, my Lord," she breathed, her eyes staring at the floor. With each breath she took, her tears disappeared, her sadness lessened, and more darkness consumed her heart.

"You have destroyed what makes you weak," he said quietly. "You have beaten the evil of love. You have the potential to become more powerful than you ever could have been."

A weight dropped on her hips. Was it his fingers? She was to disoriented to tell. The sense of his magic alone blurred her senses.

"You are exactly what I want, Bella. For more reasons than one," his words echoed in her mind as his magic encompassed her. His fingers suddenly wrapped around her wrist and a burning sensation stung her entire forearm. She gasped at the pain, so profound, so poignant. Staring at his pale, spider-like hands, she watched as fire crawled up her arm, making intricate swirls and designs on her flesh.

"And you are so beautiful, Bella, so beautiful," his words came from a place that swelled joy inside of her. His breath brushed her neck. The burning intensified. Bellatrix could see real flames burning her arm. She could not stop the tears that slipped down her face. She was shaking in his hold.

"And the first task I shall give you as my servant will be an enjoyable one, my dear," his words whispered in her ear, his coarse face gently colliding with a silky, black curl that tingled his skin. "You have killed the only thing in this world you love. Now I will let you also kill the only monster you fear more than me. Your father."

Suddenly, his cold mouth forced itself on hers, his snakelike mannerisms foreign to her. She followed his movements as best as she could, the pain in her arm beginning to fade. She almost forgot to breathe. And as quickly as it had begun, he pulled away, turning and walking away from her, the pressure of his grip fading from her skin, the pain in her arm gone completely. His billowing black cloak reached the door and his last words to the witch were the words that changed her life.

"I have given you a new life, Bellatrix Lestrange. You will have nothing to fear and nothing to love in this world. Nothing but me."

A _crack _split her ears as the Dark Lord vanished. Bellatrix felt her knees go out from under her and sensed new pain in her as her body slammed hard against the floor. She felt so numb. She wanted to cry but nothing could come out. She felt swollen, empty, used. His taste was fresh on her lips. Shaking, she pulled her forearm into her line of sight. A hazy black shape lingered on the pale arm covered in scars. Her eyes focused and identified a skull and a snake. The Dark Mark.

Words filtered into her cloudy haze. Someone was there, bent over beside her. "Bella," she sensed him say. His arms, familiar and strong, lifted her body.

"He wants me," she whispered into the chest of her husband. "He wanted me and he found me, and now he has made me new again. And I will be his. Forever."


	26. Chapter 26: The Death Eaters

"Who the hell is this?"

Bellatrix had not felt so absent of speech in a long time. It was not the presence of men exclusively that seemed to intimidate her, but this was different. These men were not like normal egotistical bastards—they were his most respected followers, men who slaughtered and killed for fun, elitists. It was only minutes ago that Lucius told her to fear this moment.

"You should understand something," Lucius's crisp voice cut across the cool night air as he walked next to Bellatrix, briskly moving down the city street. "The Dark Lord's followers never gain their Dark Marks until after they have proven themselves to him. This can take years and a great deal of work. You did not go through the same thing most have, which makes you a threat."

"In what way?" she asked lightly as they rounded a street corner, the black silk of her dress flowing in the chilly wind.

"Someone who can simply appear in his life and captivate him as much as you have poses a seriously blow to his hierarchy of followers," he began. "A certain . . . _precedent_ has been set that you must seek out one of the death eaters and work towards gaining their approval by proving your magical ability. Rarely does the Dark Lord have any real part of this—only if the follower thinks the wizard is worthy enough to join him does He give His permission to burn the Dark Mark into their flesh. So, if we're counting the number of ways you are different," Lucius took a breath, "You've exceeded your limitations."

Bellatrix scoffed at his nervous-sounding voice. "What is it I have to fear?"

"A lot," he said almost instantly, somewhat reluctantly. "The death eaters are aggressive and impulsive. It is fortunate you are so skilled in defense, because they are unpredictable, to say the least . . ."

"Lucius," Bellatrix said after a moment. "Don't avoid it."

"You are the only female death eater," Lucius snapped back, "That puts a unique target on your back."

"I am well aware," Bellatrix said calmly back.

"No, you aren't," Lucius pleaded, "These are the purebloods, the darkest and most power-obsessed, Avery, Dolohov, _Yaxley_ . . ."

"Why should I fear them?" she retorted.

"Not fear," Lucius remarked, "Caution."

Caution. What was there for Bellatrix to be cautious of in life anymore? She belonged to the Dark Lord, and simply knowing that was what made her awaken every morning. Two weeks had passed since she gained her Dark Mark. She did not know quite how to handle herself. It was easiest to ignore, to repress the painful memories that would haunt her forever. So she begged Rodolphus to destroy every piece of her child that existed in the Lestrange manor, and every other place they knew her presence to have touched. If anyone mentioned Anastasia, Bellatrix decided they would say she fell ill and could not be saved, and would presumptuously destroy any memories of her in other people, preventing them from asking again.

"This is not a request," her dark voice had commanded of her husband in the late evening, days ago. "You will do this for me."

Bellatrix had turned around and looked at Rodolphus, her black eyes cold, distant, sharp, and angry. Her eyebrows, commanding in their subtle behavior, were arched and raised in superiority and hatred. Her breathtaking beauty did not change in the slightest, but the aura she emitted was foreign to Rodolphus. They did not look like the husband and wife painted in the portrait that hung along the hallway wall of Lestrange families.

"Anything," Rodolphus said quietly, complying to her wickedness.

And so it was that Rodolphus would follow her every command, not contradicting, not questioning. She was strong, but she was fragile, and he dared not undermine the layers of mental horrors piled up in her mind. It was all too complicated, and he did not want to press her. He would do as he wished—he loved her. That was the best he could do.

Bellatrix thought of him, his handsomeness, his hopelessness. She married him under such different circumstances than she ever would have thought. Marriage felt meaningless when the engraving on her arm claimed her devotion to another. Marriage was a bondage of love, love which she did not have. Being a Death Eater was in all respects the opposite, and the consequences for breaking such a vow were obviously unfathomable. Marriage was weak—the Dark Lord was power.

Lucius approached a tall brick building, darkness appearing from within. Windows were boarded up, dirt and filth piling in a coat on the exterior. He took out his wand and muttered something, pointing at the floor in front of them. A magical shock jolted through the house, and with a click, the wooden door a few feet away from them opened. Looking back at Bellatrix with warning in his eyes, he walked through the doorway, Bellatrix following him closely.

The door slammed closed immediately after they entered. Bellatrix continued to stay behind Lucius as she surveyed the silent space—walking down a tight hallway, candles providing occasional light along the walls, their steps silent as they walked across a carpeted floor. The building appeared not so run-down as the exterior presented. Lucius stopped at a door frame leading to a room off on their right. His hand wrapped around the door knob and seeped magical light into it. Twisted his grip, he pushed open the door.

Almost instantly, the voices speaking quietly in the large room were silenced. Eight male figures stared at the woman who just entered. The level of intensity that each man gave off was remarkable. Something about their posture, their stiffness, their darkness, emanated from the room. And there was something oddly attractive in each of them, something that came with the prestige of their ability. Power and wealth was all they seemed to know.

After a moment, a dark-haired man with brazen brown eyes asked, "Who the hell is this?"

"A recruit," Lucius said quietly as he further entered the room. Bellatrix watched with apprehensive eyes, surveying the situation. The large space was filled with plain furniture, some men sitting in chairs and armchairs, others standing. Light came from candles lining the walls. There were high windows covered with dark blue curtains along several walls, and the room was only slightly warmer than the cold outside.

"I was hoping for some entertainment," someone said with a slimy voice, leaning back in his chair, and several others chuckled.

Several people scoffed slightly. A man with sandy-brown hair laughed, "You're not serious."

Lucius walked towards the back of the room, going to stand near a fireplace blazing with heat. "I would not mock him," he said simply.

"There is an obvious way to settle this," said a tall, light-skinned man with dark features and black hair. Impressive in stature and rough in appearance, he looked older, presumably in his fifties. As Bellatrix observed him walking towards her, she noticed how symmetrical he was to the Dark Lord; dark, groomed hair, impressive height, light skin. Yet he was much rougher, sporting unkempt facial hair, angry eyes, and an aggressive disposition. She watched his expression change as he took her in, his eyes shining, his expression becoming one of strange satisfaction.

At any distance she was enchanting, but being fairly close to her, the man was so overcome with her that he almost forgot his purpose. Attempting to clear his mind, his dark eyes staring coldly at the floor, he gruffly reached forward and grabbed her arm. The muscles in her arm tightened and her heart rate speed, but Bellatrix did not pull back from him. With his other hand, the man slid back the black fabric covering her forearm. Blazing with as much life as the one on his own arm, a skull and snake wove around her flesh.

With a slightly aloof expression, he looked at her and the corners of his lips turned upwards slightly, one of his eyebrows raising in skeptical delight. "A female Death Eater."

"Antonin Dolohov," the man said, his grip sliding down to her hand, which he lifted to his lips. Bellatrix watched him with an expression of certain indifference and defiance, her posture stiff. She tensed as Dolohov's skin pressed against hers, and while her eyes were focused on his, she listened intently to what the other men in the room were saying. However, Dolohov presented himself much like she pictured a darker version of Rodolphus being in the future. There was a certain sarcasm to his being she could detect herself enjoying, and she responded by softening her sharp eyes somewhat.

"This is ridiculous," someone said, taking several steps towards Lucius. "We are not having this meeting with _her_."

"He has requested she attend," Lucius said strongly, "Do you question his judgement, Yaxley?"

Bellatrix's eyes darted over to the man who was speaking. _Yaxley_? The man she was engaged to so many years ago? He did not look to be the same person. He was aged, his skin a gray tone, his disposition more repugnant and jarring than had been years ago. But it must be him—she was surprised it took her this long to recognize his thin-lipped expression and light hair.

"A _woman_?" he said in incredulity. "Don't tell me you stand for this Dolohov."

Not wavering from his examination of Bellatrix, Dolohov replied, "I don't object to change."

"_Change_?" fury seeped from Yaxley's tone now. "This is simply not acceptable. A woman cannot do this job—"

The door creaked open again and a new face appeared. As all eyes swiveled to his direction, his attention immediately latched onto Bellatrix, who was still standing uncomfortably close to Dolohov.

The man's expression lightened slightly. "Is this your wife?" he said, walking towards Dolohov.

Yaxley threw up his hands, his gestures sharp and stiff. "I'm done."

"No. She is His newest," Dolohov said to the man who had just come in as conversation broke out throughout the room. The man who approached Bellatrix was older, presumably the age of Dolohov, and looked very familiar to her. Sharing the stiff, cold demeanor of every death eater, his lighter skin and crips brown eyes shared a resemblance with someone she knew in school . . . he was tall and had well-kemp brown mousy hair, and seemed to share the sort of leading status that Dolohov had over the other death eaters, a kind of power that put them on an even higher tier of the metaphorical pyramid.

The man looked Bellatrix up and down and glanced at Dolohov. "Yours?"

"No," Dolohov said, inclining his next question to Bellatrix. "Who gave you this?" he asked, Dolohov's tight grip on her arm not wavering as he pulled it up to let the new man examine, her black sleeve sliding off of her skin.

"The Dark Lord," she responded. Dolohov and the other man glanced at each other, Dolohov letting go of her, as another man came up to them.

"What's this conversation I'm not apart of?" the new figure said in a gruff voice. He had a strangely warmer air about him than the rest, not quite as sophisticated and suave, but more cumbersome. Yet he regained still a premise of empowerment, as though he belonged in this superior conversation.

Seemingly shaking the strange presence that still lingered on the men's faces from what Bellatrix said, Dolohov offered, "We were all just getting acquainted. My dear," he said, turning his glance back to Bellatrix, "I don't believe you've told us your name."

"Black," someone yelled, approaching them. Yaxley, obnoxious and pretentious in all his stature, thrust himself importantly into the words of the other men. He clearly did not belong with them, but desired to prove himself with what knowledge he had. Begrudgingly looking at Bellatrix for only a brief moment, he continued, "Bellatrix Black."

The newest man with reddish-brown hair and a thick mustache bristling out from across his face asked, "You know her?"

Yaxley replied stiffly, not sparing any look at Bellatrix, "She was my fiancé."

The man with the reddish-brown hair laughed slightly. "That is surely a story I would like to hear."

"Touché, Nott" said Dolohov politely.

"No matter," said Lucius, coming over to the men again, the rest of the Death Eaters flocking into this strange circle, "She is no longer Black, she married Lestrange years ago."

"Lestrange?" the man who walked in asked.

"The eldest one," Lucius nodded.

"Why isn't _he_ here?" the same man retorted.

Lucius looked at the man and, with a certain sense of finality, replied, "He has not been marked yet, Rosier."

_Rosier._ That was how she knew this man. Bellatrix knew Evan Rosier in Hogwarts, a boy who looked much like this man. She had sex with him once . . . he was on her list of potential suitors . . . and here was his father. How strange this whole situation was.

"Who is her father?" Nott asked Lucius curiously.

"Cygnus," Lucius replied.

"Cygnus!" another man yelled.

"The list of fine men keeps growing," Dolohov said, his tone amused.

Sarcastically, Yaxley interrupted loudly again, "Which all begs the question, why is there a woman here?"

"Why not?"

Silence swept every man, and they all turned away from Bellatrix, toward the fireplace at the opposite end of the room. A chill trickled through everyone's bones, a blackness seeming to grow along the walls. A wall of men surrounded her, but Bellatrix need not be able to see directly who it was—she could sense his presence, know his voice, without any need for sight.

"My Lord," Yaxley said quietly, bowing his head like the rest of them. The men who had gathered dispersed across the room, leaving Nott, Rosier, Dolohov, and Yaxley still close to Bellatrix.

"Do not lie," his cold voice crept across the room again as he walked towards them, black robes billowing powerfully, his suave, terrifying demeanor forcing Yaxley to clench his jaw as to not quake in fear. With red eyes directed on him, Yaxley had no choice but to cower.

"My—my Lord," he said again, stuttering as the Dark Lord approached him. "I mean only to . . . be cautious. I would advise . . ." he trailed off, his throat closing up.

Bellatrix watched the scene with a kind of quiet pleasure. Yaxley was not the most intelligent man. Seeing him wriggle and shake under the stare of the Dark Lord equivocated to fine amusement in her, though it did not take great restraint for her to keep an indifferent expression.

"Do continue," Voldemort replied in a calm voice.

"I . . . would advise against this," Yaxley said finally, attempting to stay stiff and collected in his disposition. "I do not believe she could aide your combative strength, Master."

Voldemort was quite for a moment, examining Yaxley with a snake-like stare, waiting for his prey to crack. Finally, he said, "Would you feel more secure if she practiced her magic on you?"

Yaxley silently looked into the red eyes of the most terrifying man he would ever face. "My—my Lord, I do not doubt—"

"Clearly you do," he finished, dismissively, gesturing with his hand for Yaxley to stop speaking. "Please, Bella, would you be so kind as to grace Yaxley with your magic?"

Bellatrix's body tensed dramatically, her eyes flickering up to stare at the dangerous men before her. Voldemort, still staring at Yaxley, turned away and began walking to one of the walls.

"Show him, so we can all be clear, exactly what strengths you have," he said lightly, turning now to look at her. His red eyes ignited nervousness and anticipation within her, and she listened to his words echo soundlessly in her mind.

He waited, not sure what to do, until Nott gave Yaxley a good push into the center of the room. Yaxley spun around, staring warily at Bellatrix, whose wand was wrapped around her tense fingers and whose thoughts were already dipping into the most painful nights of her life, as to perform the magic she knew her Lord would want to see.

Yaxley swallowed loudly, appearing to be perspiring. "I don't—"

His words were cut short by a deranged scream that leapt from his throat as he was hit in the chest with a bolt of red light. The stream of dark magic pushed him to the floor, kneeling in pain, his arms clutching his sides as if he had been shot in the stomach. The magic swept over his entire body, engulfing his rich robes in electrifying light, deepening in its dark hue as each second passed.

With her other hand, Bellatrix made tight gestures with her wrists, her fingers slowly curling, deepening his pain and causing audible _cracks_ in his body to echo in the room. He gasped for breath amongst his cries, tearing his vocal chords apart in agony, his body contorted and writhing on the floor, knocking into obscure pieces of furniture, scrambling away from Bellatrix, attempting to run from the fire.

"Please!" he shrieked finally, his voice cracking as he coughed up blood, choking and howling in drawn-out cries. "Stop . . . STOP!"

She felt a hand lightly fall on her shoulder, sensing a tall figure behind her. His touch sparked a tingling shiver through her body, making an extra exert of magic jolt through her wand. But she knew He meant finality, she could sense it, so slowly, she lowered her wand, breaking the magical stream of red light. Bellatrix noticed then that Dolohov, Rosier, and Nott, all of whom had been standing quite close to her moments ago, had taken several steps away and were staring at her with a certain mix of terror and impressment.

Yaxley gasped for breath desperately, coughing and sputtering, attempting to push himself upright with a piece of furniture. The other death eaters were not sure if it was in their place to assist him. They waited, their eyes bounding between the crippled man, the sorceress, and her Master standing behind her.

Sweeping out from behind her, moving towards the center of the room, the Dark Lord said in a commanding tone, "My judgement is final. Do not question that."

Yaxley, weak and recovering on the floor, said in a rasping, pleading tone to the man standing above him, "I—I'm s—sorry, Mast—ter. I never meant to d—do so."

"Get up," his sinister voice said coldly. Yaxley struggled to get to his knees, shakily trying to stand. He fell against the wall for support, and no death eater would help him—they knew far better than to do so.

Turning back to look at Dolohov, Rosier, and Nott, the Dark Lord said quietly, "Proceed." His cloaks swirling darkly, he disappeared, leaving a loud _crack_ to resonate against the walls. For another minute, everyone was silent and still, staring at Bellatrix, save for Yaxley who was struggling to stand up straight.

"Right then," said Rosier, and the death eaters cautiously began to disperse across the room again, some of them taking seats in the armchairs. He looked warily at Bellatrix who returned his glance with one of approval, then at Dolohov and Nott, and with a nod of finality, said decidedly, "Let's begin."


	27. Chapter 27: The New Normal

A flash of blue light whirled past her curls. She swerved, avoiding it, and threw more magic back in the direction it came. Throwing up shielding spells as quickly as she could and sending curses behind her, Bellatrix fought roughly amidst a particularly intense encounter between the death eaters and the Order. The Aurors had not yet arrived, and Bellatrix was hoping, like the others, that they could kill as many as possible and escape before anyone arrived.

Of course, Bellatrix was still masked during battle. The death eaters tried, for as long as possible, to remain nameless, faceless, and unidentified. As soon as the public was aware Bellatrix Lestrange was a death eater, it would be much more challenging to act as though everything was normal. For now, she could still go out in public, although she did so sparingly anyway. Soon, that privilege would be used scathingly and with great caution, for it was only a matter of time until she was discovered. Rumors of a female death eater had spread to the Daily Prophet, and everyone was dying to know, who was this woman?

Her eye flickered instantly to Dolohov, who was fighting against a young, rather inexperienced-looking man. Bellatrix glanced back at her opponent, who momentarily had their guard down. With a quick wave of her wand and the scream, "_Avada Kedavera,_" green light struck the stranger in the chest and he fell to the ground. Bellatrix turned quickly to Dolohov's opponent, throwing a spell at him from the side. It didn't take long for the two of them to have the little wizard sprawled on the ground, and with a final swish of his wand, Dolohov murdered the young man. Bellatrix nodded at him, a look of delight in her eyes, and Dolohov returned her glance with a murderous smile. Then they both turned, looking for more to kill.

"Watch it!" someone yelled, as Bellatrix threw another killing curse in the direction of a rather old-looking man, with a wispy beard and sagging skin. The old wizard was not quick enough, and collapsed, lifeless, to the ground. A new man appeared before Bellatrix and began fighting her, but within moments, she had him pinned against the ground, screaming in pain from the Cruciatus curse.

She spun around and caught the eyes of Rosier, who nodded, signaling that they were to end the fight soon. Bellatrix returned the nod and threw a curse in his direction, which he ducked under, killing a man who threatened him from behind. Standing up straight again, she acknowledged his expression of gratitude with a casual smile. Turning to see who else she could kill, Bellatrix watched as the death eaters quickly began disapparating, and she knew it was time to be finished. Throwing one last killing curse at a man, she vanished, feeling sucked though a tube of air as she flew from the field and appeared in the large hallway of a manor.

"Christ," she breathed to herself, as her feet touched the ground again. There were already ten wizards there, more appearing as each second ticked by. Looking around to make sure everyone had made it—Avery, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott, Mulciber, Rodolphus, Lucius—she knew that if any of them were to not be present, she would have to go back and find them. It wouldn't be a choice.

"Brilliant," a voice whispered in her ear behind her as the wizards began to noisily make their way into the parlor room of the mansion, a hand sliding onto her waist.

"And you," she replied quietly. Rodolphus had been marked in the weeks following Bellatrix's induction into the death eaters, and now the two fought alongside each other frequently. Rodolphus had not yet been discovered by the public either, and it was assumed that as soon she was realized, so was he. But until then, he could maintain his work in the Ministry and assume a daily life.

A rough voice called, "Is everyone here?" Mulciber, with his impressive height, stood and counted, looking for all twenty five of the wizards who had started the mission that evening.

"We're missing one," Avery yelled out, and everyone began murmuring, wondering who it was. Suddenly, a loud _crack _filled the air, and Yaxley walked in, rather flustered, through the doorway.

"You little fucker," Nott yelled at him, slumping down in a chair in the room. They were in Dolohov's mansion, a recurring place for the death eaters to meet for planning, debriefing, and assessing their attacks, as well as to strategize with the Dark Lord. Dolohov, Mulciber, Nott, Avery, and Rosier were the most common to use their houses for His service. In the days following Bellatrix's introduction to the death eaters at their meeting, the men had taken quite an interest in her, whether they chose to make it obvious or not. She was, after all, the only woman who had captured His attention, and at first, the men's interest had been simply to understand why. Yet as the days went by, they realized it was not simply her breathtaking beauty that earned Bellatrix a place in his ranks—it was her incredible skill, her artful control of magic, her capacity to slaughter mercilessly. She was a true asset to his team, one of the best, if not the best, death eater he had, and they were much more interested in having her work closely with them if for no other purpose than to make missions more successful.

"Alright," shouted Dolohov as more men began to take their seats around the room, "Sit down or shut up." Bellatrix smirked at the remark and stood with Rodolphus along the general crowd of people formed in the room, several of the death eaters having taken seats in the armchairs and couches that slathered the center of the room. She preferred spectating from a higher place, with her husbands strong arm resting on her side. It made her feel almost content, as much as one could be when working for the Dark Lord.

"We'll see the reports tomorrow," Rosier began stiffly, "But I would guess at least twenty five were killed tonight." A round of applause and cheering erupted, many of the death eaters clapping each other on the back in congratulations. "Tonight went well, but they will retaliate strongly, assumably this week, and we must be ready. Come when called, we will need to prepare again before we are ready."

"With that said," Nott interrupted Rosier, "Tonight was pretty fucking awesome," he yelled with a rather loud, raucous voice, and everyone laughed and cheered again. "I think we all deserve a drink."

With that, he waved his hands and alcohol appeared in everyone's hand. Everyone yelled with delight, raising their drinks as the clink of glass echoed viciously through the room. Bellatrix handed hers to Lucius, who was standing near her, and he smiled lightly, taking it easily off her hands. Bellatrix quite enjoyed alcohol, but did not care to risk losing control of herself in the presence of so many men, at least not tonight.

"What time is it?" Bellatrix asked, letting her eyes droop closed for a moment, acknowledging the exhaustion she felt.

"Four," Rodolphus said quietly. Four in the morning. This had become a pattern, staying up all night, sleeping sparingly during the day. Sleep was a treat, and she missed it. But even when she had time, sleep brought nightmares and terrors and memories she would rather leave forgotten. So she did not sleep, she just…existed. Through magical ailments and slashes in her arms and starving she existed on, aching, a shell of existence, yet somehow appearing beautiful, if not more so than ever. A new glow surrounded her, a powerful aura, that made her movements as much purposeful as graceful, her words more commanding and eloquent. She was stronger, apathetic, dark, and unkind. She did not care about anything except Him, and that was clear to everyone.

"We can go," Rodolphus said lightly in her ear. "I would very much like to express my appreciation of your work this evening."

Bellatrix's lips neared a smile. "Oh?" she replied quietly. "And how might that be?"

"In ways I am sure would make me the most envied man in the room," he said, placing his lips against the side of her head, kissing her soft, glossy curls.

Stealing the glass that was in his hand and bringing it to her lips, she began, "That sounds—"

"Madame Lestrange," Dolohov said, coming up to Rodolphus and Bellatrix. He studied her with a fascination, a look Bellatrix recognized from many other men as a desire to touch her, and she felt Rodolphus's hold on her tighten as the older, attractive man watched her.

"Antonin," Bellatrix replied softly, her black eyes absorbed in his brown ones. She quite enjoyed Dolohov's company, whether it be simply discussing life or fighting on the battlefield. He had become a friend to her, however he may have intended that to come about, and she appreciated his long connection with the Dark Lord, as well as his witty sense of humor and desire to entertain her.

"I must say, I admire your ability to, shall we say, 'make it work,'" he said through a slippery smile, his eyes flickering to Rodolphus's for a second. "You are the most admirable husband and wife, times such as they are."

"And you and your wife are not?" Bellatrix replied silkily, pulling a smile from Dolohov's lips. She knew quite well he would be glad to be rid of his wife, an old, badgering pureblood who was of no use to him whatsoever.

"Ah," Dolohov said, chuckling slightly, "Not as . . . _effective_ as you."

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow at him. She knew that Dolohov was quite aware of the Dark Lord's interest in her for varying reasons. That did not change the way Dolohov looked at her, as though she was a young snake to be stroked and groomed carefully. This was a treat for Bellatrix, who had feared that her Master would start by destroying the entirety of her relationship with everyone, especially Rodolphus. Not that she was particularly desirous for her husband, but having a man who worshiped her and pleased her such as Rodolphus was something she didn't want to be rid of, at least not yet. She hadn't cried in so long, but some nights, when it was very late and the stars would soon be grazed by the light of dawn, he would hold her in his strong, warm arms and give her his love. He was unsure of whether she still reciprocated it, as was Bellatrix for that matter, but that did not keep him from being someone who would just let her be without asking or expecting anything. Silence slipped by, hours and hours of silence, and he would not sleep, not until she did, not wanting her to be alone. It was the grandest gesture Bellatrix had ever received, something she could not find the words to thank him for, but something she could easily live without.

Wanting to change the subject as Rodolphus's grip on her was uncomfortably tight now, she asked, "You don't think we made twenty five tonight, do you? We were barely there for ten minutes."

"You'd be surprised," Dolohov said, taking a drink from the glass of whiskey in his own hand. "Seeing how many people you take out, about half of them are covered for the rest of us."

"I doubt that," she said, running her fingers through her curls briefly before crossing her arms placidly.

"You shouldn't," Dolohov said, studying her expression. "It's no lie."

"What the bloody hell's going on over here?" a loud, gruff voice called. Nott hobbled over from his chair, leaning on Dolohov's shoulder when he arrived, eying Bellatrix playfully and taking a swig from the glass of whiskey in his hand. "Is this the cool kid party?"

"Now that you're here," Dolohov said, rolling his eyes in annoyance, his lips fighting the urge to smile at his old friend.

"Ah, right you are," Nott replied, taking a long drawl from his glass. "Thanks for the save tonight, dearie," he said, nodding to Bellatrix. "Didn't see Moody coming, the bastard. Kill 'em for me next time, will ya?"

"Gladly," Bellatrix said, touching her glass to his as he held it out in a cheerful expectancy, drinking lightly as he heavily drained the rest of the glass.

"You going home soon?" Nott asked Rodolphus, who looked at Bellatrix for the answer.

She scoffed slightly, bringing the glass to her lips. "Whenever you want."

Nott's eyes grew huge amidst a huge gulp of the firewhisky Dolohov refilled for him. "'Whenever you _want_?'" he exclaimed, gasping out of the alcohol and staring at Rodolphus in astonishment. "What you still doing here for, mate? I'd have left hours ago, if she was _my_ wife," he joked, nudging Rodolphus with the arm that wasn't draped around Dolohov.

"Gentlemen," someone said from behind them, "And Bellatrix." Her attention swiveled in the direction of a voice, her black eyes gaining alertness. Rosier came walking swiftly towards them, with purpose and a usual importance in his presence.

"Go now!" Nott yelled at Rodolphus in a groggy, playful voice, "Get outta here, before you get stuck in a conversation with _him_!"

"Real polite, you are," Dolohov said sarcastically, shoving Nott off of him as Rosier came to stand stiffly next to Dolohov.

"Get everyone out of here," Rosier said quietly to Dolohov, "He wants to speak with us. Now."

"_Now_?" Dolohov asked, suddenly standing straight up, alert and attentive. "Why?

"What's this about talking?" Nott asked gravely, the glass disappearing from his hand.

"He's on His way," Rosier grimaced, and then turned to look at Bellatrix intensely. "I wouldn't go far if I were you, I predict he'll want a word with you."

As Nott turned to everyone in the room and yelled at them to get out, Dolohov assisting him, Bellatrix looked loftily at Rodolphus, who stared at her with a light sense of surprise and disappointment in his eyes. She knew he was well aware he might not see her until tomorrow evening, but with the Dark Lord lingering on her mind, she couldn't pay attention to how he felt now. Parting from his grip on her side, Bellatrix's eyes left Rodolphus's and she walked swiftly through the crowd of disapparating men, leaving the room and wandering through the house to find a mirror somewhere. After a fight she was often rather disoriented in appearance, which would not do in the presence of her Master.

Creaking open a bathroom door, Bellatrix ignited a gas lamp and stared at the witch reflected across from her. She ran her fingers over the gown on her body, having it switch to a more tight, expensive dress, that hugged her torso and flared at her hips, black silk flowing to the floor and weaving up her arms, leaving her collarbone and much of her breasts unclothed. Her open back was covered in long black curls, which she ran her fingers through in an attempt to control. Gesturing to the black boots that covered her feet now, they transformed into elegant heels, giving her a bit more height and a lot more confidence. Biting her lip, she glanced into her eyes and thought hopelessly, _Your face is what it is_, and, after giving herself a quick nod of assurance and a raise of an eyebrow, distinguished the flame and walked swiftly back to the parlor.

Now, only Dolohov, Rosier, Nott, and Mulciber, and Avery remained. Mulciber was a great deal more intimidating than the others. He was old and very sick, his skin turned a pale, yellow-ish color, sallow and hollow, his face gaunt, his back arched over from years of exhaustion, yet still terribly tall. His stare was uncomfortable to be under for long quantities of time, as Bellatrix experienced on several occasions. His terrifying hands wrapped around a long, black cane for support. He was almost like a ghost, a shell, an empty corpse, walking around on account of the Dark Lord.

Avery was quite like the others, fitting into their boyish clique nicely. He was much like Dolohov only more mature, sophisticated in his air, as if his years of experience greatly numbered his friends'. He exemplified a fatherly presence, not that Bellatrix could truly explain much of what that was supposed to resemble, but he had a caring, paternal way about him, about his mannerisms, his words. Like the others, he had a dark demeanor, dark brown hair and tan, white skin, fitting in almost perfectly with the image of the rest of them. Bellatrix could almost see the group in Hogwarts together, each falling into a different stereotypical social norm, the smart one, the ladies-man, the stuck-up brat, the boyish prankster, the wise old man. The Dark Lord was in this group too…but he could not fit one norm, he fit them all. She couldn't imagine him in school, what he would have been like, what he _looked_ like—

"Enough time to change?" Nott asked smiling, nodding to Bellatrix as she came into the room. "Impressive."

She raised her eyebrows at him in acknowledgement, sparingly smiling at anything when the Dark Lord was in her midst.

"He'll surely want to discuss tonight, probably plan for the next attack," Rosier said matter-of-factly, and the group nodded uniformly. There was a sudden knock at the door and internally they each jumped, turning to Dolohov, who went to answer the door.

Bellatrix looked at Nott, whose expression resembled that of a child, a lost boy, his eyes misty as he stared emptily at the ground. What he had seen and done, Bellatrix knew it was immeasurable to what most people experienced in their entire lifetime. He was such a good spirit at most times, but at any mention of their Master he turned cold, hard, scared. She wondered what had happened between them to make such a man act this way. Then Nott's eyes caught her glance for a moment and she cleared her thoughts, guarding her mind if anyone were to see into it. He didn't pry though, and his soft brown gaze flickered past her to see their Master standing in the doorway.

They all looked up when Dolohov reentered the room, the Dark Lord following behind him. Everyone bowed their heads and quietly whispered, "Master." Then, looking cautiously up into his red eyes, they cleared the center of the room, making the furniture disappear, as the Dark Lord created a grand table and several chairs to take their place. He walked around to sit at the head of the table, the furthest in the room, and the rest of them took their places beside him, Bellatrix towards the farther end, away from him.

"My Lord," Rosier said quietly after they were all settled. He sat two chairs away from Him. "Tonight's attack was eleven minutes. There were twenty of us. We killed about twenty five."

The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow at his words. "Twenty five," he mused, his voice sending chills down Bellatrix's spine. "I don't believe you'd broken fifteen to this day."

They were silent for a moment, not saying a word. They could not tell if he was pleased or angry.

"Not all of the Aurors had arrived by the time we left," Dolohov said after a moment, hating to leave him open to second-guess their efforts. "Although much the Order was there."

Silence followed. The Dark Lord mused on this number, leaning forwards slightly, staring viciously down at his hands, folded in front of him. He thought for a time. They all waited, hanging on the words he had not yet spoken, terrified that he would question why they were obtaining such large numbers and having a less than satisfactory response to give him.

However, they were saved, as he concluded this thought in his mind and finally asked, his tone transitioning in discussion, "What of the Order?"

"We believe there are now twenty members," Nott responded, "Most of our information has been gathered through Ministry officials."

"I want names," the Dark Lord responded, leaning back once more.

Nott began, "Emmeline Vance, Elphias Doge, Marlene McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes—"

Dolohov interrupted, "Edgar Bones, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Rubeus Hagrid—"

"Minerva McGonagall, Alastor Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt—" Avery added.

Mulciber continued, "Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Aurthur and Molly Weasley—"

"Alice and Frank Longbottom, Lily and James Potter, and Sirius Black," Rosier finished.

"Familiar…" the Dark Lord said quietly, thinking to himself. "I taught many of them, did I not, Bella?" the Dark Lord asked the witch.

"Yes, my Lord," her smooth voice responded, her black eyes grazing his red ones. "Black, Longbottom, Lupin, Pettigrew, Potter, Prewett, and Weasley."

The Dark Lord drummed his fingers against the table, one arm slouched over the arm of the chair he sat in. "The Order resembles the Aurors, correct?"

"Yes, my Lord," Avery said, "Although we have yet to encounter Dumbledore."

The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow at this. "Obviously," he said in a demeaning and slightly bored tone. Avery bowed his head in apology.

"Where shall we attack next?" Rosier asked after a moment of silence passed.

"I haven't decided," his snakelike words slipped from his mouth into the open air of conversation. "Over the course of this month, plan out Diagon Alley, I want it to be a spectacle. But for now…" he trailed off, his eyes resting on Bellatrix's body where they stayed for a moment, appearing to the other death eaters to be glancing off in space but quite apparent to Bellatrix what they were looking at. "Slaughter the Order."

"Yes, my Lord," they whispered, their voices layered.

"You are all dismissed," he said quietly, and the six death eaters stood up to leave. Pushing in their chairs behind them, Avery, Dolohov, Mulciber, Nott, Rosier, and Bellatrix rose to file out of the room.

"Bella," the Dark Lord said suddenly, and they all froze. Her hands still gripping the back of the chair, she stood still, not uttering one word. "Stay."

The men looked hesitantly at each other and anxiously at Bellatrix before nodding to one another and walking from the room. Bellatrix stood, frozen where she was, the Dark Lord standing up and walking over to her. The front door opened as several men shuffled out and slammed closed in accordance to the familiar _crack_ of an apparation.

"Master," she said quietly, her eyes trained on the oak wood chair she gripped in front of her, her knuckles growing wither and whiter as her hold tightened. "How may I serve you?"

"Tell me, Bella," his words light and close to her, his body very near. "How many of those twenty five were yours?"

She paused for a moment. Turning her head towards him slightly, but not daring to look up, she responded rather hesitantly, "Twelve, my Lord."

He laughed slightly, and Bellatrix almost gasped, the sound something she seldom heard. "I thought as much."

"It is nothing against the others, my Lord," she rushed, "They serve you well."

"Ah, but not as well as you do," he said, his voice just above a whisper. She felt his cold, long fingers touch the side of her face, and he commanded her eyes to look at his ferocious, terrifying red ones. Bellatrix left her expression as plain as she could, her fascination a failed attempt to hide, but her lust as concealed as possible.

Looking seriously at the beautiful witch, he hissed, "There is more I have yet to accomplish this evening. Be certain," he said, his eyes unwavering from hers, "You shall be summoned tonight, Bella."

And with that, he disapparated silently, disappearing in a flourish of black silk and dark magic. Bellatrix stood there for a moment, breathless, speechless, too many emotions vying for her attention. She dwelled upon them, for she knew that down the hall, in a room off to the side, the men who made a show of leaving the manor would be waiting for her. But they could wait together at least one more moment, for she knew it would be a long night.


End file.
